Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/412

342 With stubborn shackles to this desert height,

Where neither voice nor form of living man

Shall meet thy ken; but, shrivelled by the blaze

Of the bright sun, thy skin's fair bloom shall wither;

Welcome to thee shall glittering-vestured night

O'erveil the brightness; welcome too the sun

Shall with new beams scatter the morning rime;

Thus evermore shall weight of present ill

Outwear thee: for as yet is no one born

Who may relieve thy pain: such meed hast thou

From mortal-loving wont;—for thou, a god,

Not crouching to the wrath of gods, didst bring

To mortal men high gifts, transgressing right.

Hence shalt thou sentinel this joyless rock,

Erect, unsleeping, bending not the knee;

And many a moan shalt pour and many a plaint,

Vainly; for Zeus obdurate is of heart;

And harsh is every one when new of sway.

Let be! Why dally and vain pity vent?

This god, to gods most hateful, why not hate,

Who thy prerogative to men betrayed?

Awful is kindred blood, and fellowship.

True, but the father's word to disobey—

How many that be? Fearest not that still more?