Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/244

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Daughter to Agamemnon born,

Or Troy, that, smitten by my sire,

Of him in nightmare memories dreameth?

Great is the Goddess: borrow then of me

Robes woven cunningly,

And jewels whereby shall beauty fairer shine.

Dost think these tears of thine,

If thou give honour not to Gods, shall bring

Thy foes low?—reverencing

The Gods with prayers, not groans, shalt thou obtain

Clear shining after rain.

No God regards a wretch's cries,

Nor heeds old flames of sacrifice

Once on my father's altars burning.

Woe for the dead, the unreturning!

Woe for the living, homeless now,

In alien land constrained, I trow

To serfdom's board in grief to bow—

That hero's son afar sojourning!

In a poor hovel I abide,

An exile from my father's door,

Wasting my soul with tears outwelling,

Mid scaurs of yon wild mountain-side:—

My mother with her paramour

In murder-bond the while is dwelling!