Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/182

164 And banish all my woes. Hercules: Where shall I flee? Where hide myself? What land shall bury me From human sight? What Tanaïs or Nile, What Tigris, with the waves of Persia mad, What warlike Rhine, or Tagus, flowing full And turgid with Iberia's golden sands, Can ever cleanse this right hand of its stains? Though chill Maeotis pour its icy floods Upon me; though the boundless sea should pour Its waters o'er my hands; still would they be Deep dyed with crime. Where wilt thou take thyself, Thou murderer? Wilt flee to east, or west? Known everywhere, I have no place of flight. The whole world shrinks from sight of me; the stars Avert their courses from me, and the sun Saw even Cerberus with milder face. O Theseus, faithful friend, seek out a place, Far off from here, where I may hide myself. Since thou a lenient judge of others' sins Hast ever been, grant mercy now to me. Restore me to the infernal shades, I beg, And load me with the chains thou once didst wear. That place will hide me—but it knows me too! Theseus: My land awaits thy coming; there will Mars Wash clean thy hands, and give thee back thy arms. That land, O Hercules, now calls to thee, Which even gods from sin is wont to free.