Page:The Tragedies of Aeschylus - tr. Potter - 1812.pdf/72

28 Whither will these wide-wand'ring errors lead me?

How, son of Saturn, how have I offended,

That with these stings, these tortures thou pursuest me,

And drivest to madness my affrighted soul!

Hear me, supreme of gods, O hear thy suppliant,

Blast me with lightnings, bury me in th' earth,

Or cast me to the monsters of the sea;

But spare these toils, spare these wide-wand'ring errors,

Which drive me round the world, and know no rest.

Hear'st thou the voice of this lamenting virgin?

For such she is, tho' in that form disguis'd.

I hear her griefs, that whirl her soul to madness,

Daughter of Inachus, whose love inflames

The heart of Jove; hence Juno's jealous rage

Drives the poor wanderer restless o'er the world.

Whence is it that I hear my father's name?

Speak to my misery, tell me who thou art;

What wretch art thou, that to a wretch like me

Utterest these truths, naming the malady,

Which, heav'n-inflicted, stings my tortur'd soul

To frenzy? Hence with hurrying steps I rove

Foodless, pursued by never-ceasing wrath.

Ah me! What child of misery ever suffer'd

Misery like mine? But tell me, clearly tell me

What woes await me yet, what ease, what cure?

Say, if thou know'st, speak, tell a wand'ring virgin.

All, thou cau'st wish to learn, I'll tell thee clearly,

Wrapt in no veil abstruse; but in clear terms ,