Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/256

238 Weep and lament thy fate. How often have we played with thee In Acheloüs' shallow pools, When now the swollen floods of spring Had passed away, and gently now, Withi graceful sweep, the river ran; When mad Lycormas ceased to roll His headlong waters on. How oft have we, a choral band, To Pallas' altars gone with thee; How oft in Theban baskets borne The sacred Bacchic mysteries, When now the wintry stars have fled, When each third summer calls the sun; And when, the sacred rites complete To Ceres, queen of golden grain, Eleusin hides her worshipers Within her mystic cave. Now too, whatever fate thou fear'st, Accept us as thy trusted friends; For rare is such fidelity When better fortune fails. O thou, who wield'st the scepter's power, Whoe'er thou art, though eagerly The people throng within thy courts, And press for entrance at thy doors; And though the crowds press thick about Where'er thou tak'st thy way: be sure That in so many seeming friends, Scarce one is true. Erinys keeps the gilded gate; And when the great doors swing apart, Then cunning treachery creeps in And fraud, and murderous dagger points. Whene'er thou think'st to walk abroad, Base envy as thy comrade goes. As often as the morning dawns Be sure a king from fear of death Has been delivered. Few there are