Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/158

88 But for thy foes, Father, this prayer I urge,

That Justice, thine avenger, may appear,

So that thy slayers may in turn be slain.

For them an evil utterance I pour.

To us upsend these blessings from below,

With gods, and Earth, and Justice conquest-crowned."

Over such prayers, libations, lo! I pour.

Yours be it now, lifting the solemn wail,

To crown with dole the pæan of the dead.

Drop ye for the dead

Tears with pattering sound;

Lustral rain is shed

O'er the hallowed mound,

From the pure which screeneth bale,

While the powers of Evil quail.

Hear, O master, at thy tomb,

Whispered sounds from sorrow's murky gloom.

Now in measured flow

Tune the notes of woe!

When will warrior brave,

(War-god strong to save

Houses in the dust laid low,)

Hurl the spear, from hornèd bow

Wing the arrow's deadly flight,

Or wield the hilted brand in closer fight?