Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/384

366 But whither shall our alien course be sped? Perchance to Pleuron's gates we go, Where Dian's sell was counted foe; Perchance to Troezen's winding shore, The land which mighty Theseus bore; Or Pelion, by whose rugged side Their mad ascent the giants tried. Here, stretched within his mountain cave, Once Chiron to Achilles gave The lyre, whose stirring strains attest The warlike passions of his breast. What foreign shore our homeless band invites? Must we our native country deem Where bright Carystos' marbles gleam? Where Chalcis breasts the heaving tide, And swift Euripus' waters glide? Perchance unhappy fortune calls To bleak Gonoessa's windswept walls; Perchance our wondering eyes shall see Eleusin's awful mystery; Or Elis, where great heroes strove To win the Olympic crown of Jove. Then welcome, stranger lands beyond the sea! Let breezes waft our wretched band, Where'er they list, to any land; If only Sparta's curséd state (To Greeks and Trojans common fate) And Argos, never meet our view, And bloody Pelops' city too; May we ne'er see Ulysses' isle, Whose borders share their master's guile. But thee, O Hecuba, what fate, What land, what Grecian lord await?

[Enter Helen.] Helen [aside]: Whatever wedlock, bred of evil fate, Is full of joyless omens, blood and tears, Is worthy Helen's baleful auspices.