Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/459

Rh

Whose head—whose?—art thou bearing in thine arms?

A lion's—so said they which hunted it.

Look well thereon:—small trouble this, to look.

Ah-h! what do I see? What bear I in mine hands?

Gaze, gaze on it, and be thou certified.

I see—mine uttermost anguish! Woe is me!

Seems it to thee now like a lion's head?

No!—wretched!—wretched!—Pentheus' head I hold!

Of me bewailed ere recognised of thee.

Who murdered him? How came he to mine hands?

O piteous truth that so untimely dawns!