Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/97

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Pass in, dear children, for it shall be well.

But thou, keep these apart to the uttermost:

Bring them not nigh their mother angry-souled.

For late I saw her glare, as glares a bull

On these, as 'twere for mischief; nor her wrath,

I know, shall cease, until its lightning strike.

To foes may she work ill, and not to friends!

O hapless I!—O miseries heaped on mine head!

Ah me! ah me! would God I were dead!

Lo, darlings, the thing that I told you!

Lo the heart of your mother astir!

And astir is her anger: withhold you

From her sight, come not nigh unto her.

Haste, get you within: O beware ye

Of the thoughts as a wild-beast brood,

Of the nature too ruthless to spare ye

In its desperate mood.

Pass ye within now, departing

With all speed. It is plain to discern

How a cloud of lamenting, upstarting

From its viewless beginnings, shall burn

In lightnings of fury yet fiercer.

What deeds shall be dared of that soul,

So haughty, when wrong's goads pierce her,

So hard to control?

[Exeunt Children with Guardian.