Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/165

Rh As when they crowd the Pisan fields When the fifth summer brings again The Elean Thunderer's sacred games; As, when the lengthening nights return, And the balanced Scales the sun's bright car Detain, to gentle sleep inclined, The people throng the mysteries Of Ceres, while the Attic priests Lead through the fields with hurried steps The worshipers: such thronging hordes Are driven through those silent plains. A part goes slow with steps of age, Sadly, and sated with the years; Some, in the earlier flush of life, Advance with the sprightly step of youth, Young maids not yet in wedlock joined, And boys with flowing ringlets, babes, Who have not yet learned to repeat Their mother's name. To these alone 'Tis given to dispel the night With torches, and their fears relieve. The rest in utter darkness fare, And sadness. So our spirits mourn, When each one, grieving o'er his fate, Feels crushed in darkness 'neath the weight Of all the world. There chaos reigns, Repulsive glooms, the hateful dark Of night, the empty veil of clouds, The weary inactivity Of that still, empty universe. Oh, may the time far distant be When old age bears us to that land. None come too late, and ne'er can he, Who once has come, return again. What need to hasten cruel fate? For all the wandering tribes of earth Shall surely seek the land of shades, And on the still Cocytus spread Their sails; all things the sun beholds,