Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/278

260 For now, Oh, now will I be thought the son Of old Amphitryon. O deadly pest, Whate'er thou art which in my vitals lurk'st, Come forth. Why with a hidden agony Dost thou afflict my heart? What Scythian sea Beneath the frozen north, what Tethys slow, What Spanish Calpe nigh the Moorish shore Begot and brought thee forth? O evil dire! Art thou some crested serpent brandishing Its hideous head; or some fell thing of ill As yet unknown to me, produced perchance From Hydra's poisonous gore, or left on earth By Cerberus, the deadly dog of Styx? Oh, every ill art thou, and yet no ill. What are thy form and features? Grant at least That I may know the thing by which I die. Whate'er thy name, whatever monster thou, Come out, and show thy terror to my face. What enemy has made a way for thee Unto my inmost heart? Behold my hands Have torn aside my burning skin and so My bleeding flesh disclosed. But deeper yet Its hiding-place. Oh, woe invincible As Hercules! But whence these grievous cries? And whence these tears which trickle down my cheeks? Mv face, unmoved by grief, has never yet Been wet with tears; but now, Oh, shame to me, Has learned to weep. Where is the day, the land, That has beheld the tears of Hercules? Dry-eyed have I my troubles ever borne. To thee alone, dire pest, to thee alone That strength has yielded which so many ills Has overcome. Thou first, yea, first of all Hast forced the tear-drops from these stubborn eyes. For, harder than the bristling crag, or steel, Or than the wandering Symplegades, Hast thou my stern face softened, and my tears, Unwilling, forced to flow. And now the world, O thou most mighty ruler of the skies,