Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/192

174 This crime from him: what of thy mother's sire, Who floods the earth with his illuming rays? And what of him who makes the earth to quake, The bolts of Aetna flashing in his band, The father of the gods? And dost thou think That it can lie that thou couldst hide thy sin From these thy grandsires, all-beholding ones? But even should the favor of the gods, Complaisant, hide thy shame from all the world; Though to thy lust alone should fall that grace Denied to other crimes: still must thou fear. What of that ever-present punishment, The terror of the soul that knows its guilt, Is stained with crime and fearful of itself? Some women have with safety sinned, but none With peace of soul. Then quench these flames, I pray, Of impious love, and shun this monstrous crime Which no barbaric land has ever done, No Getan wandering on his lonely plains, No savage Taurian, no Scythian. Expel from thy chaste soul this hideous thing, And, mindful of thy mother's sin, avoid Such monstrous unions. Wouldst in marriage give Thyself to son and father? Wouldst thou take In thine incestuous womb a progeny So basely mixed? Then go the length of sin: O'erthrow all nature with thy shameful fires. Why should the monsters cease? Why empty stands Thy brother's labyrinth? Shall all the world Be shocked with prodigies, shall nature's laws Be scorned, whene'er a Cretan woman loves? Phaedra: I know that what thou say'st is true, dear nurse; But raging passion forces me to take The path of sin. Full consciously my soul Goes headlong on its downward way, ofttimes With backward glance, sane counsel seeking still, Without avail. So, when the mariner Would sail his ship against the boisterous waves, His toil is all in vain, and, vanquished quite,