Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/293

Rh The awful dog throughout the towns of Greece, Returned triumphant o'er the shades of hell, Scorning the lord of death and death itself, So did he lay him down upon the pyre. What victor in his chariot ever shone With such triumphant joy? What tyrant king With such a countenance e'er uttered laws Unto his subject tribes? So deep his calm Of soul. All tears were dried, our sorrows shamed To silence, and we groaned no more to think That he must perish. E'en Alcmena's self, Whose sex is prone to mourn, now tearless stood, A worthy mother of her noble son. Nurse: But did he, on the verge of death, no prayer To heaven breathe, no aid from Jove implore? Philoctetes: With peaceful soul he lay, and scanned the skies, As searching from what quarter of the heavens His sire would look on him, and thus he spake, With hands outstretched: "O father, whencesoe'er From heaven thou lookest down upon thy son— He truly is my father for whose sake One day of old was swallowed up in night— If both the bounds of Phoebus sing my praise, If Scythia, and all the sun-parched lands; If peace fills all the world; if cities groan Beneath no tyrant's hand, and no one stains With blood of guests his impious altar stones; If horrid crimes have ceased: then, take, I pray. My spirit to the skies. I have no fear Of death, nor do the gloomy realms of Dis  Affright my soul; but Oh, I blush with shame To go, a naked shade, unto those gods Whom I myself aforetime overcame. Dispel the clouds and ope the gates of heaven, That all the gods may see Alcides burn. Though thou refuse me place among the stars, Thou shalt be forced to grant my prayer. Ah no:  If grief can palliate my impious words, Forgive; spread wide the Stygian pools for me,