Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/249

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Nought—save, being dead, she seeth not the light.

Ah, hapless she, and hapless sire that slew!

Slain for an evil woman—graceless grace!

And lives the dead king's son in Argos yet?

He lives, unhappy, nowhere, everywhere.

False dreams, avaunt! So then ye were but nought.

Ay, and not even Gods, whom men call wise,

Are less deceitful than be fleeting dreams.

Utter confusion is in things divine,

As in things human. This worst grief remains,

When, not of folly, but through words of seers,

Comes ruin—how deep, they that prove it know.

Alas, alas! Of me—my parents—what?

Live they, or live they not? Ah, who can tell?

Hearken, for I have found us a device,