Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/193

Rh

Alas! of these dark words the sense I catch;

Through guile we perish, as through guile we slew.

Quick, bring a deadly axe;—

[Exit Servant. We'll see anon

Whether we vanquished are, or vanquisher;

For to this crisis hath the evil come.

Thee too I seek,—he there hath had his due.

Alas! beloved Ægisthos, art thou dead?

Dost love this man? With him, in the same tomb,

Then shalt thou lie;—still faithful found in death.

Hold! hold! my son;—Revere, my child, this breast

From which, a sleeping infant, thou full oft,

With toothless gums, thy nurture-milk hast sucked.

Speak, Pylades;—Through filial reverence,

Shall I forbear to shed a mother's blood?

The Pythian oracles, still unfulfilled,