Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/116

46

Ah! Ah!

A heaven-detested house, whose walls of yore

Halters have seen, and streams of kindred gore;

A human shambles with blood-reeking floor.

Keen scented seems the stranger, like a hound;

Ay, and the blood she's tracking will be found.

Ah! Ah!

Lo! witnesses trust-worthy! Vouchers dire!

These babes, who weep their death-wound, faith inspire,

Their roasted members eaten by their sire!

Thy fame oracular hath reached our ear;

But certes seek we now no prophet here.

Alas! ye gods!

What is she plotting? what new blow?

A mighty mischief plots she 'neath this roof;

An unimaginable cureless woe,

Unbearable to friends. Help stands aloof.

Dark are these oracles; the first I knew;

For, them the city voucheth wholly true.

Ah wretched one!

The deed wilt consummate? With guile