Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/423

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That came not to follow his banner's guiding,

When to win the Belt of the Warrior Queen,

The golden clasp of the mantle vest,

He marched far north on a death-fraught quest?

And the wild maid's spoils for a glory abiding

Greece won: in Mycenæ they yet shall be seen.

And the myriad heads he seared

Of the Hydra-fiend with flame,

Of the murderous hound Lyrnæan:

With its venom the arrows he smeared

That stung through the triple frame

Of the herdman-king Erythæan.

Many courses beside hath he run, ever earning

Triumph; but now to the dolorous land,

Unto Hades, hath sailed for his last toil-strife;

And there hath he quenched his light of life

Utterly—woe for the unreturning!

And of friends forlorn doth thy dwelling stand;

And waits for thy children Charon's oar

By the river that none may repass any more,

Whither godless wrong hath sped them: and yearning

We strain our eyes for a vanished hand.

But if mine were the youth and the might

Of old—were mine old friends here,

Might my spear but in battle be shaken,

I had championed thy children in fight:—

But mid desolate days and drear

I am left, of my youth forsaken!

Lo where they come!—the shrouds of burial cover

Each one,—the children of that Herakles