Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/35

Rh Which the mourner in bitterness sheareth, neither beating of hands one heareth

On maiden's head.

Yet surely is this the appointed day—

Ah! what wilt thou say?

Whereon of her doom she must pass to the tomb.

With a keen pang's smart hast thou stabbed mine heart.

It is meet, when the good are as flowers plucked away,

That in sorrow's gloom

Should the breast of the old tried friend have part.

(Str. 2) Though ye voyage all seas,

Ye shall light on no lands,

Nor on Lycia's leas,

Nor Ammonian sands,

Whence redemption shall come for the wretched, or loosing of Death's dread bands.

Doom's imminent slope

Is a precipice-steep.

In no God is there hope,