Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/107

Rh For him thy trusty spear-guest nourisheth;

Strophius, the Phocian, who hath me forewarned

Of twofold peril, thine 'neath Ilion's wall,

And next lest clamour-fostered Anarchy

Hazard the plot, for 'tis with men inborn

To trample further him already down.

This pretext, trust me, carries no deceit.

But for myself the gushing founts of grief

Are all dried up, no single tear is left;

Sore with late watching are my weary eyes,

Weeping the fiery beacons set for thee

Neglected ever. Often from my dreams

Was I awakened by the tiny hum

Of buzzing gnat, seeing, endured by thee,

More woes than could have filled mine hour of sleep.

These sorrows past, now with a heart unwrung

I hail my husband, watchdog of the fold,

Sure forestay of the ship; of lofty roof

Pillar firm based; Sire's sole-begotten child;

Land beyond hope looming to mariners;

Day after storm most brilliant to behold;

To thirsty wayfarer clear gushing spring.

Sooth, sweet it is to 'scape from harsh constraint;

With such addresses do I honour him.

Let Envy stand aloof! for we have borne

Ere this full many a woe. Now dear my lord

Come from thy car; but on the ground, O King,