Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/134

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Bowed beneath sorrow's weight,

Invoke not deadly Fate,

Nor in thine anger Helen thus arraign,

As though through her, through one,

Fell many a Danaan son;—

She-man-destroyer, working cureless bane!

Demon, who now dost fall

Ruthless on Atreus' hall

Making the twin Tantalidæ thy prey,

Through women's haughty reign,

Gnawing my heart, thou dost confirm thy sway.

Like bodeful raven hoarse,

She standeth o'er the corse,

And chants exulting her discordant strain.

Ay now thy speech in sooth

Runs even with the truth,

Calling the thrice-dread demon of this race;

For in their veins is nursed,

By him, the quenchless thirst

For blood; ere pales the trace

Of ancient pang, new ichor flows apace.

Mighty the demon, dire his hate,

Whom here thou boastest to preside;