Page:The Tragedies of Aeschylus - tr. Potter - 1812.pdf/54

10 Steals on my sense? Be you immortal gods,

Or mortal men, or of th' heroic race,

Whoe'er have reach'd this wild rock's extreme cliff,

Spectators of my woes, or what your purpose,

Ye see me bound, a wretched god, abhorr'd

By Jove, and ev'ry god that treads his courts,

For my fond love to man. Ah me ! again

I hear the sound of flutt'ring nigh; the air

Panis to the soft beat of light.moving wings:

Ali, that appioaches now, is dreadful to me.


 * Forbear thy fears: a friendly train


 * On busy pennons flutt'ring light,


 * We come, our sire not ask'd in vain,


 * And reach this promontory's height.


 * The clanging iron's horrid sound


 * Re-echo'd thro' our caves profound;