Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/371

Rh Without disgrace, sole profit to the dead;

On base and evil deeds no glory waits.

What art so eager for, my son?

Let not Infatuation's spell,

Spear-frenzied, soul-possessing, bear thee on:

No, the first germ of evil passion quell.

Since God himself the matter presses on,

Let all of Laios' race, 'neath Phœbos' ban,

Drift with the breeze, Cocytos' wave its goal.

Thee passion biting to the quick

O'er masters, onward thou art led,

A bitter-fruited deed to consummate

Of blood, unlawful for thy hand to shed.

E'en so, for my dear father's hostile curse,

Now ripe, broods over my dry tearless eyes,

Telling that later doom hath prior gain.