Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/75

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Be still, thou vain demented soul;

My force thy craving shall control.

Away, aboard! What, clingest to the shrine?

Away! this city's gods I hold not for divine.

Aid me, ye gods, that never, never

I may again behold

The mighty, the life-giving river,

Nilus, the quickener of field and fold!

Alack, O sire, unto the shrine I cling—

Shrine of this land from which mine ancient line did spring!

Shrines, shrines, forsooth!—the ship, the ship be shrine!

Aboard, perforce and will-ye nill-ye, go!

Or e'er from hands of mine

Ye suffer torments worse and blow on blow.

Alack, God grant those hands may strive in vain

With the salt-streaming wave,

When 'gainst the wide-blown blasts thy bark shall strain

To round Sarpedon's cape, the sandbank's treach'rous grave.

Shrill ye and shriek unto what gods ye may,

Ye shall not leap from out Aegyptus' bark,

How bitterly soe'er ye wail your woe.