Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/323

Rh But he is king who knows no fear, And he is king who has no lust; And on his throne secure he sits Who is self-crowned by conscious worth. Let him who will, in pride of power, Upon the brink of empire stand: For me, be sweet repose enough; In humble station fixed, would I My life in gentle leisure spend, In silence, all unknown to fame. So when my days have passed away From noisy, restless tumult free, May I, in meek obscurity And full of years, decline in death. But death lies heavily on him Who, though to all the world well known, Is stranger to himself alone.

Thyestes: At last do I behold the welcome roofs Of this my fatherland, the teeming wealth Of Argos, and, the greatest and the best Of sights to weary exiles, here I see My native soil and my ancestral gods (If gods indeed there be). And there, behold, The sacred towers by hands of Cyclops reared, In beauty far excelling human art; The race-course thronged with youth, where oftentimes Have I within my father's chariot Sped on to victory and fair renown. Now will all Argos come to welcome me; The thronging folk will come—and Atreus too! Oh, better far reseek thy wooded haunts, Thy glades remote, and, mingled with the brutes Live e'en as they. Why should this splendid realm With its fair-seeming glitter blind my eyes? When thou dost look upon the goodly gift,