Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/151



HEE, shade-escorting Hermes, I invoke,

In Hades guardian of my royal sire,—

To me, thy suppliant, be saviour thou,

My firm ally,—for to this land I come

Exile no more;—on this sepulchral mound

Father I call thee,—hearken to my cry!—

A primal lock, as nurture-gift, I vowed

To Inachos, and now this second lock,

Griefs token. Father, I devote to thee,—

For, absent from thy funeral obsequies,

I could not then as mourner wail thy death,

Nor speed with outstretched hand thy royal bier.

What sight is this? What company of women

Is wending hitherward, in sable weeds