Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/250

180 But ye, if now ye seek some alien soil,

Will of this land enamour'd be; of this

You I forewarn; for onward-flowing time

Shall these my lieges raise to loftier fame;

And thou, in venerable seat enshrined

Hard by Erectheus' temple, shalt receive

Honours from men and trains of women, such

As thou from other mortals ne'er may'st win.

But cast ye not abroad on these my realms,

To waste their building strength, whetstones of blood,

Evoking frantic rage not born of wine;

Nor, as out-plucking hearts of fighting-cocks,

Plant ye among my townsmen civil strife,

Reckless of kindred blood; let foreign war

Rage without stint, affording ample scope

For him who burns with glory's mighty rage.

No war of home-bred cocks, I ween, is that!

Such terms I proffer, thine it is to choose;

Blessing and blest, with blessed rites revered,

To share this country dear unto the gods.

1. That I should suffer this, oh Fie!

2. That, old in wisdom, I on earth should dwell

Dishonour'd! Fie! Debasement vile!

3. Rage I breathe forth, and wrath no stint that knows.

4. Fie! Fie! O earth, alas!

5. What agony of pain creeps o'er my heart!

6. Hear, Mother Night, my passion.

7. Mark for scorn,

By crafty gods deluded, held for nought,

Of ancient honour I am basely shorn.