Page:House of Atreus 2nd ed (1889).djvu/108

72 On whetstones new and deadlier than of old,

The steel that smites, in Justice' hold,

Another death to deal.

O Earth! that I had lain at rest

And lapped for ever in thy breast,

Ere I had seen my chieftain fall

Within the laver's silver wall,

Low-lying on dishonoured bier.

And who shall give him sepulchre,

And who the wail of sorrow pour?

Woman, 'tis thine no more!

A graceless gift unto his shade

Such tribute, by his murd'ress paid!

Strive not thus wrongly to atone

The impious deed thy hand hath done.

Ah who above the god-like chief

Shall weep the tears of loyal grief?

Who speak above his lowly grave

The last sad praises of the brave?

Peace! for such task is none of thine.

By me he fell, by me he died,

And now his burial rites be mine!

Yet from these halls no mourners' train

Shall celebrate his obsequies;

Only by Acheron's rolling tide

His child shall spring unto his side,

And in a daughter's loving wise

Shall clasp and kiss him once again!

Lo! sin by sin and sorrow dogg'd by sorrow—

And who the end can know?