Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/240

222 Will drive his flocks. And soon, alas, Within our walls, the shepherd rude Shall sing upon his rustic pipes, With doleful voice, our history. And when the hand of God shall speed A few more generations on, The very place where once we dwelt Will be forgotten. Happy once, I kept no barren hearth at home; Not mine the hungry acres then Of Thessaly. But now I'm called To Trachin's rough and stony land, To ridges parched and jungle-set, To groves which e'en the mountain goat Would not inhabit. But, perchance, Some milder fate the captives calls. Then will they see the Inachus, Whose rapid waves shall bear them on, Or dwell within Dircaean walls Where flows Ismenus' scanty stream— And where was once the mother wed Of mighty Hercules. False is that tale of doubled night, When overlong the stars delayed Within the skies, and Hesperus In place of Lucifer arose, And Delia with tardy car Kept back the sun. What Scythian crag Begot thee, or what stony mount? Like some wild Titan wast thou born On Rhodope, or Athos rough? What savage beast on Caspian shores, What spotted tigress, suckled thee? Impervious to wounds is he. Sharp spears are blunted, steel is bent Against his heart; and glittering swords, Upon his naked members struck, In broken fragment drop apart; Stones strike, but harmlessly rebound.