Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/46

18 Nor will I lift up heart to sing to flute

Of Libya: thou hast robbed my life of mirth.

And, wrought by craftsmen's cunning hands, thy form

Imaged, upon a couch outstretched shall lie,

Falling whereon, and clasping with mine hands,

Calling thy name, in fancy shall mine arms

Hold my belovèd, though I hold her not:—

A chill delight, I wot: yet shall I lift

The burden from my soul. In dreams shalt thou

Haunt me and gladden: sweet to see the loved,

Though but a fleeting presence night-revealed.

But, were the tongue and strain of Orpheus mine,

To witch Demeter's Daughter and her lord,

And out of Hades by my song to win thee,

I had fared down: nor Pluto's Hound had stayed me,

Nor Spirit-wafter Charon at the oar,

Or ever I restored thy life to light.

Yet there look thou for me, whenso I die;

Prepare a home, as who shall dwell with me.

For in the selfsame cedar chest, wherein

Thou liest, will I bid them lay my bones

Outstretched beside thee: ne'er may I be severed,

No, not in death, from thee, my one true friend.

Yea, I withal will mourn, as friend with friend,

With thee for this thy wife, for she is worthy.

My children, ye yourselves have heard all this,

Have heard your father pledge him ne'er to wed

For your oppression and for my dishonour.