Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/119

Rh Beneath the lengthening days of spring And the sun's warm rays, melt down in streams From Haemus' top.

Blind is the rage of passion's fire, Will not be governed, brooks no reins, And scoffs at death; nay, hostile swords It gladly courts.

Spare, O ye gods, be merciful, That lie who tamed the sea may live. But much we fear, for the lord of the deep Is wroth that his realm of the second lot Should be subdued.

The thoughtless youth who dared to drive His father's sacred chariot, Was by those fires, which o'er the heavens He scattered in his mad career, Himself consumed.

The beaten path has never proved The way of danger. Walk ye then Where your forefathers safely trod, And keep great nature's holy laws Inviolate.

Whoever dipped the famous oars Of that bold bark in the rushing sea; Whoe'er despoiled old Pelion Of the thick, dark shade of his sacred groves; Whoever dared the clashing rocks, And, after countless perils passed, His vessel moored on a barbarous shore, Hoping to fare on his homeward way The master of the golden fleece, All by a fearful end appeased The offended sea.

First Tiphys, tamer of the deep, Abandoned to an untrained hand His vessel's helm. On a foreign shore, Far from his native land he died;