Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/82

26 Lo, these I behold, twain yoked as one

In love, in sorrow, afront of the hall:

For the vote is cast and the doom forth gone.

O woeful mother, O hapless son,

Who must die since her master hath humbled his thrall,

Though nought death-worthy hast thou, child, done,

That in condemnation of kings thou shouldst fall!

Lo, blood my wrists red-staining

From cruel bonds hard-straining,

Lo, feet the grave's brink gaining!

O mother, 'neath thy wing

I crouch where death-shades gather.

Death!—Phthians, name it rather

Butchery!

O my father,

Help to thy loved ones bring!

There, darling, shalt thou rest

Pillowed upon my breast,

Where corpse to corpse shall cling.