Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/336

318 Perchance he threw the corpses to be torn By raving beasts, and kept them from the fire? Messenger: Would that he had! I do not pray for this, That friendly earth may give them burial, Or funeral fires consume; but only this, That as a ghastly meal they may be thrown To birds and savage beasts. Such is my prayer, Which otherwise were direful punishment. Oh, that the father might their corpses see Denied to sepulture! Oh, crime of crimes, Incredible in any age; a crime Which coming generations will refuse To hear! Behold, from breasts yet warm with life, The exta, plucked away, lie quivering, The lungs still breathe, the timid heart still beats. But he the organs with a practiced hand Turns deftly over, and inquires the fates, Observing carefully the viscera. With this inspection satisfied at length, With mind at ease, he now is free to plan His brother's awful feast. With his own hand The bodies he dismembers, carving off The arms and shoulders, laying bare the bones, And all with savage joy. He only saves The heads and hands, those hands which he himself Had clasped in friendly faith. Some of the flesh Is placed on spits and by the roasting fires Hangs dripping; other parts into a pot Are thrown, where on the water's seething stream They leap about. The fire in horror shrinks From the polluting touch of such a feast, Recoils upon the shuddering altar-hearth Twice and again, until at last constrained, Though with repugnance strong, it fiercely burns. The liver sputters strangely on the spits; Nor could I say whether the flesh or flames Groan more. The fitful flames die out in smoke Of pitchy blackness; and the smoke itself, A heavy mournful cloud, mounts not aloft