Page:Frogs (Murray 1912).djvu/104

96 [Sings again; mysteriously.

What vision of dreaming,

Thou fire-hearted Night,

Death's minion dark-gleaming,

Hast thou sent in thy might?

And his soul was no soul, and the Murk was his mother, a horror to sight!

Black dead was his robe, and his eyes

All blood, and the claws of him great;

Ye maidens, strike fire and arise;

Take pails to the well by the gate,

Yea, bring me a cruse of hot water, to wash off this vision of fate.

Thou Sprite of the Sea,

It is e'en as I feared!

Fellow-lodgers of me,

What dread thing hath appeared?

Lo, Glykê hath stolen my cock, and away from the neighbourhood cleared!

(Ye Nymphs of the Mountain give aid!

And what's come to the scullery-maid?)

And I—ah, would I were dead!—

To my work had given my mind;

A spindle heavy with thread

My hands did wi-i-i-ind,

And I meant to go early to market, a suitable buyer to find!