Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/341

Rh Though daylight aid me not, yet will I snatch The shrouding darkness from thy miseries. Too long with care-free, cheerful countenance Thou liest at the feast. Now food enough, And wine enough. For so great ills as these, Thyestes must his sober senses keep. [To the slaves.] Ye menial throng, spread wide the temple doors, The festal hall reveal. 'Tis sweet o note The father's frantic grief when first he sees His children's gory heads; to catch his words, To watch his color change; to see him sit, All breathless with the shock, in dumb amaze, In frozen horror at the gruesome sight. This is the sweet reward of all my toil— To see his misery, e'en as it grows Upon his soul.

Now gleams with many a torch The spacious banquet hall. See, there he lies Upon his golden couch all richly decked With tapestry, his wine-befuddled head Upstayed upon his hand. Oh, happy me! The mightiest of the heavenly gods am I, And king of kings! The fondest of my hopes Is more than realized. His meal is done; Now raises he his silver cup to drink. Spare not the wine; there still remains the blood Of thy three sons, and 'twill be well disguised With old red wine. Now be the revel done. Now let the father drink the mingled blood Of his own offspring; mine he would have drunk. But see, he starts to sing a festal song. With mind uncertain and with senses dim.

O heart, long dulled with wretchedness, Put by at last thine anxious cares.