Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/123

Rh Her,—what detested monster may I name

And hit the mark?—Some basilisk, or Scylla

Housing in rocks, deadly to mariners,

Infuriate dam of Hades, breathing forth,

Against her dearest, curse implacable?

What triumph-notes exultantly she raised,

All daring one, as in the turn of fight,

Feigning to gratulate his safe return!

What boots it whether I persuade or no?

The doomed must come; ere long to pity moved,

Me thou wilt own a prophet all too true.

Thyestes' banquet of his children's flesh

I knew and shudder at; fear takes my soul,

Hearing the truth, no imaged counterfeit.

The rest I heard, but follow not the track.

On Agamemnon dead, I say, thou'lt look.

Lull, poor forlorn one, thy ill-omened tongue.

Yet o'er this speech no healing god presides.

If be it must; but may it never be;

The while thou prayest, theirs it is to slay.