Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/111

Rh Reckon a myriad-muster, 'twere ten times ten thousand, I trow.

Sad lord of lost legions,

Sorrow on thee!

Through Asia's wide regions

Thy welcome shall be

Lamentation and mourning and weeping: she stoopeth; she boweth the knee.

Wail loud! Be not dumb!

On me be your moan!

For I am become

To kingdom and throne

A plague and a curse; yea, a burden, a weariness unto my own.

O crowned desolation,

Whose stripes thy land bears;

A sore salutation

She sounds in thy ears;

Mariandyne's death-lament hails thee: the cup of thy feasting is tears.

Pour forth thy sorrow!

Long, long shall it flow!

Nor to-day nor to-morrow

Sufficeth thy woe.

I have felt the fierce changes of fortune; the blast of God's vengeance I know.