Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/436

366 Storm-battered? What trespass hath thee

Thus doomed to destruction? Oh, say,

To what region of earth have I wandered, forlorn?

Ah me! The dire anguish! Ah me!

Again the barbed pest doth assail!

Thou phantom of Argos, earth-born;

Avert him, O earth! Ah, I quail,

The herdsman beholding with myriad eyes.

With crafty look, onward, still onward he hies;

Not even in death is he hid 'neath the earth;

But, e'en from the shades coming back,

He hounds me, forlorn one, in anguish of dearth,

To roam by the sea-waves' salt track.

Still droneth the wax-moulded reed,

Shrill-piping, a sleep-breathing strain.

Ah me! The dire anguish! Woe! Woe!

Ah, whither on earth do these far-roamings lead?

What trespass canst find, son of Kronos, in me,

That thou yokest me ever to pain?

Woe! Ah, woe!

And wherefore with brize-driven fear torture so

A wretchèd one, phrenzied in brain?

Oh burn me with fire, or o'erwhelm 'neath the soil,

Or fling me to ravenous beasts of the sea.