Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/38

20 The bull amid his dying herd Is pining; and the shepherd fails His scanty flock, for he himself 'Mid his wasting kine is perishing. The stag no more fears the ravenous wolf; No longer the lion's roar is heard; The shaggy bear has lost her rage, And the lurking serpent his deadly sting; For parched and dying now he lies, With venom dried. No more do the woods, with leafage crowned, Spread out their shade in the mountain glens; No more are fields with verdure clad; No vines bend low with laden arms; For the very earth has felt the breath Of our dire pestilence. Through the riven bars of Erebus, With torches lit in Tartara, The raging band of the Furies troop; Dark Phlegethon has changed his course, And forced the waters of the Styx To mingle with our Theban streams. Grim Death opes wide his greedy jaws, And all his baleful wings outspreads. And he who plies that swollen stream In his roomy skiff, though his age is fresh And hardy, scarce can raise his arms, O'erwearied with his constant toil And the passage of the endless throng. 'Tis even rumored that the dog Hath burst the chains of Taenara, And through our fields is wandering. Now dreadful prodigies appear: The earth gives out a rumbling sound, And ghosts go stealing through the groves, Larger than mortal forms; and twice The trees of our Cadmean woods Have trembled sore and shed their snows; Twice Dirce flowed with streams of blood;