Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/425

Rh And hold the champaigns of mine heritage;

Thy prayer won this of him that gave thee life.

And to thy right hand would he yield the club,

A feignèd gift, his carven battle-stay.

To thee the land, by his far-smiting bow

Once wasted, promised he, Oechalia.

So with three princedoms would your sire exalt

His three sons, in his pride of your great hearts.

And I chose out the choice of Hellas' brides,

Linking to ours by marriage Athens' land,

And Thebes, and Sparta, that ye might, as ships

Moored by sheet-anchors, ride the storms of life.

All that is past: the wind of fate hath veered,

And given to you the Maids of Doom for brides,

Tears for my bride-baths. Woe for those my dreams!

And now your grandsire makes the spousal-feast

With Hades for brides' sire, grim marriage-kin.

Ah me! which first of all, or which the last,

To mine heart shall I press?—whom to my lips?

Whom shall I clasp? Oh but to gather store

Of moan, like brown-winged bee, from all grief's field,

And blend together in tribute of one tear!

Dear love,—if any in Hades of the dead

Can hear,—I cry this to thee, Herakles:

Thy sire, thy sons, are dying; doomed am I,

I, once through thee called blest in all men's eyes.

Help!—come!—though as a shadow, yet appear!

For thou by that bare coming shouldst suffice

To daunt the cravens who would slay thy sons.

Lady, the death-rites duly order thou.