Page:House of Atreus 2nd ed (1889).djvu/211

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The man who grievously doth lust for fame,

War, full, immitigable, let him wage

Against the stranger; but of kindred birds

I hold the challenge hateful. Such the boon

I proffer thee—within this land of lands,

Most loved of gods, with me to show and share

Fair mercy, gratitude and grace as fair.

I, I dishonoured in this earth to dwell,—

Ancient of days and wisdom! I breathe forth

Poison and breath of frenzied ire. O Earth,

Woe, woe for thee, for me!

From side to side what pains be these that thrill?

Hearken, O mother Night, my wrath, mine agony!

Whom from mine ancient rights the gods have thrust,

And brought me to the dust—

Woe, woe is me!—with craft invincible.

I will not weary of soft words to thee,

That never mayst thou say, Behold me spurned,

An elder by a younger deity,

And from this land rejected and forlorn,

Unhonoured by the men who dwell therein.

But, if Persuasion's grace be sacred to thee,

Soft in the soothing accents of my tongue,

Tarry, I pray thee; yet, if go thou wilt,

Not rightfully wilt thou on this my town

Sway down the scale that beareth wrath and teen

Or wasting plague upon this folk. 'Tis thine,

If so thou wilt, inheritress to be

Of this my land, its utmost grace to win.