Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/205

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Off! lost one! off! Horror, I cry!

Horror and misery!

Was this the traveller's tale I craved to hear?

Oh, that mine eyes should see

A sight so ill to look upon! Ah me!

Sorrow, defilement, haunting fear,

Fan my blood cold,

Stabbed with a two-edged sting!

O Fate, Fate, Fate, tremblingly I behold

The plight of Io, thine apportioning!

Thou dost lament too soon, and art as one

All fear. Refrain thyself till thou hast heard

What's yet to be.

Speak and be our instructor:

There is a kind of balm to the sick soul

In certain knowledge of the grief to come.

Your former wish I lightly granted ye:

And ye have heard, even as ye desired,

From this maid's lips the story of her sorrow.

Now hear the sequel, the ensuing woes

The damsel must endure from Hera's hate.

And thou, O seed of Inachæan loins,

Weigh well my words, that thou may'st understand

Thy journey's end. First towards the rising sun

Turn hence, and traverse fields that ne'er felt plough

Until thou reach the country of the Scyths,

A race of wanderers handling the long-bow