Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/94

24

All hail!

So please the gods, I grudge not now to die.

Love for thy father-land thy heart hath wrung!

So wrung that from mine eyes fall tears of joy.

Sweet the heart-sickness that o'ercame you thus.

The key I lack which may thy words unlock.

Smit with desire for those who longed for you.

Hath Argos yearned then for the yearning host?

Ay, so that oft from darken'd soul I groaned.

Whence this sad gloom, abhorrent to the host?

Silence I long have held bale's safest cure.

How! Aught didst fear in absence of thy lords?

To die was oft my wish as whilom thine.