Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/298

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Alas for thy lot! Their mother wast thou,

And horrors and anguish no words may tell

At thy children's hands thou hast suffered now!

Yet justly the blow for their sire's blood fell.

Phœbus, the deed didst thou commend,

Aye whispering "Justice"—thou hast bared

The deeds of darkness, and made end,

Through Greece, of lust that murder dared.

But me what land shall shield?—what friend,

What righteous man shall bear to see

The slayer of his mother—me?

Woe's me! What refuge shall what land give me?

O feet from the dance aye banned! O spousal-hopeless hand!

What lord to a bridal-bower shall receive me?

Again have thy thoughts veered round, yet again!

Now right is thine heart, which was then not right

When to deeds of horror didst thou constrain

Thy brother, O friend, in his heart's despite.

Didst thou mark, how the hapless, clinging, clinging

To my mantle, bared her bosom in dying—

Woe's me!—and even to the earth bowed low

The limbs that bare me, mine heart-strings wringing?