Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/343

Rh With tears; and in the midst of speech I groan aloud. No doubt 'tis true, That grief, well trained in weeping, loves To melt away in tears; and oft The wretched feel a strong desire To weep their fill. E'en so I long To cry aloud my wretchedness, To rend these gorgeous Tyrian robes, And shriek my misery to heaven. My mind gives intimation dark Of coming grief, its own distress Foreboding. So the sailor fears The raging tempest's near approach, When tranquil waters heave and swell, Without a breath of wind. Thou fool, What grief, what rising storm of fate Dost thou imagine nigh? Nay, nay, Believe thy brother; for thy fear— 'Tis groundless, whatsoe'er it be, Or thou dost fear too late. Ah me, I would not be unhappy now; But in my soul dim terror stalks, Nor can my eyes withhold their tears; And all for naught. What can it be? Am I possessed by grief or fear? Or can this some great rapture be, That weeps for joy?

Atreus [greeting his brother with effusive affection]: With one consent, my brother, let us keep This festal day. For this the happy day Which shall the scepter 'stablish in thy hand, And link our family in the bonds of peace. Thyestes [pushing the remains of the feast from him]: Enough of food and wine! One thing alone Can swell my generous sum of happiness— If with my children I may share my joy. Atreus: Believe that in the father's bosom rest The sons; both now and ever shall they be With thee. No single part of these thy sons