Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/401



Ghost of Thyestes: Escaped from gloomy Pluto's murky realm And leaving Tartara's deep pit I come, All doubting which abode I hate the more; That world I flee, but this I put to flight. My soul shrinks back, my limbs do quake with fear. I see my father's house—my brother's too! Here is the ancient seat of Pelop's race; In this proud hall it is Pelasgians' wont To crown their kings; here sit those overlords Whose hands the kingdom's haughty scepter wield; Here is their council chamber—here they feast! Let me go hence. Were it not better far To sit beside the dark, sad pools of Styx, And see the hell-hound's black and tossing mane? Where one, bound fast upon a whirling wheel, Back to himself is borne; where fruitless toil Is mocked forever by the rolling stone; Where living vitals glut the vulture's greed, Consumed but e'er renewed; and one old man, By mocking waves surrounded, seeks in vain To sate his burning thirst, dire punishment For that he strove to trick th' immortal gods. But, ranked with mine, how slight that old man's sin! Take count of all whose impious deeds on earth Make them to tremble at the bar of hell: By my dread crimes will I outdo them all;— But not my brother's crimes. Three sons of mine Lie buried in me, yea, mine own dear flesh Have I consumed. Nor this the only blot With which dire fortune's hand hath stained my soul; But, daring greater sin, she bade me seek (Oh, foul impiety!) my daughter's arms. Bold for revenge, I dared and did the deed, And so the fearful cycle was complete: As sons the sire, so sire the daughter filled.