Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/381

Rh Who bitter kingship tasted; war's keen blade

To you, at length, hath reconcilement brought.

The dread Erinys of their sire hath wrought,

Fulfilling his stern curse, this stubborn woe.

Both smitten through the breast,

Yea, through the heart, sprung from one common womb!

Woe! Woe! ye fiend possest!

Woe for the curse of mutual-slaughtering doom!

Smitten, as ye relate,

Smitten in home and life, with ruin dire,

By Wrath transcending speech, and vengeful Hate,

Sprung from the curse of Œpidus, their sire.

The city groans amain,

The turrets groan, groans the man-loving plain;

But with their kin doth bide

Their wealth, dire cause to that ill-fated twain

Of strife, whose issue death to either side.

With hearts keen whetted they

Their wealth apportioned, equal shares they gain;—

Friends blame the umpire, neither may their fray

Be now applauded in triumphal strain.