Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/47

Rh (Ant.) Hopes, dreams, they were past

As a tale that is told;

Yet thou comest at last

For mine arms to enfold!

What shall I say to thee?—how shall I grasp it, the rapture of old?

By assurance of word,

Or by hands that embrace,

Or by feet that are stirred,

Or by body that sways,

Hitherward, thitherward, tossed as the dance intertwineth its maze?

Ah son, thy father's desolate home forsaking,

Wast thou by thine own brother's tyrannous wrong

Exiled!—for thee thy lovers' hearts were aching,

Thebes' heart for thee ached long.

Therefore my white hair have I shorn for mourning,

With weeping let it fall for thee, my son:

Of white robes disarrayed, for all adorning

These night-hued rags I don;

While in our halls the sightless ancient, ever

Yearning and weeping o'er that noble twain

Whom from home's yoke of love did hatred sever,

Rushed, eager to be slain

By his own hand, with sword, with noose down-trailing

From rafters dim,—now groaning o'er the doom

His malison brought on you, ever wailing

With anguish, hides in gloom.