Page:House of Atreus 2nd ed (1889).djvu/98

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Ah state of mortal man! in time of weal,

A line, a shadow! and if ill fate fall,

One wet sponge-sweep wipes all our trace away—

And this I deem less piteous, of the twain.

[Exit into the palace.

Too true it is! our mortal state

With bliss is never satiate,

And none before the palace high

And stately of prosperity

Cries to us with a voice of fear

''Away! 'tis ill to enter here!''

Lo! this our lord hath trodden down,

By grace of heaven, old Priam's town,

And praised as god he stands once more

On Argos' shore!

Yet now—if blood shed long ago

Cries out that other blood shall flow,

His life-blood, his, to pay again

The stern requital of the slain—

Peace to that braggart's vaunting vain,

Who, having heard the chieftain's tale,

Yet boasts of bliss untouched by bale!

[A loud cry from within.

O I am sped—a deep, a mortal blow.

Listen, listen! who is screaming as in mortal agony?

O! O! again, another, another blow!