Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/427

Rh Boys, hither!—hang upon your father's cloak.

Speed ye, unhand him not; for this is he,

Your helper he, no worse than Saviour Zeus.

Enter Herakles.

All hail, mine house, hail, portals of mine hearth!

How blithe, returned to light, I look on you!

Ha! what is this?—my sons before the halls

In death's attire and with heads chapleted!—

And, mid a throng of men, my very wife!—

My father weeping over some mischance!

Come, let me draw nigh these and question them.

Wife, what strange stroke hath fallen on mine house?

O best-beloved!—to thy sire light of life!

Art come?—art saved for friends' most desperate need?

How?—father, what confusion find I here?

We are at point to die!—thy pardon, ancient,

That I before thee snatch thy right of speech,

For woman is more swift than man to mourn,

And my sons were to die, and I was doomed.

Apollo!—what strange prelude to thy speech!

Dead are my brethren and my grey-haired sire.