Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/338

320 Has driven thee from thy heavenly course? What cause from their accustomed way Has turned thy steeds? Is war essayed Once more by giants, bursting forth From out the riven gates of Dis? Does Tityos, though wounded sore, Renew his ancient, deadly wrath? Perchance Typhoeus has thrown off His mountain, and is free once more; Perchance once more a way to heaven Those giants, felled in Phlegra's vale, Are building, and on Pelion's top Are piling Thracian Ossa high. The accustomed changes of the heavens Are gone to come no more. No more The rising and the setting sun Shall we behold. Aurora bright, The herald of the dewy morn, Whose wont it is to speed the sun Upon his way, now stands amazed To see her kingdom overturned. She is not skilled to bathe his steeds, A-weary with their rapid course, Nor in the cooling sea to plunge Their reeking manes. The sun himself, In setting, sees the place of dawn, And bids the darkness fill the sky Without the aid of night. No stars Come out, nor do the heavens gleam With any fires; no moon dispels The darkness' black and heavy pall. Oh, that the night itself were here, Whatever this portends! Our hearts Are trembling, yea, are trembling sore, And smitten with a boding fear Lest all the world in ruins fall, And formless chaos as of yore O'erwhelm us, gods and men; lest land, And all-encircling sea, and stars