Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/423

Rh Beware the queen! Why does she madly in her woman's hand Those naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred, Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons? What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes? A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts, Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate; While at his mangled neck a low-born beast Gnaws greedily. Why do ye summon me, Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades? I'll follow thee, my father, buried deep Beneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O prop Of Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks, I see, though not in brave and fair array, As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow Of burning ships; but with thy members torn And foully mangled by the dragging thongs. And thee, O Troilus, I follow too, Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son! I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus, Past recognition scarred. Is this the gift Of thy new wife? Ah me, 'tis sweet to go Along the borders of the Stygian pool; To see the savage hound of Tartarus, The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old, Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal souls Across the murky Phlegethon today, The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades, And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both: Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm, That so yon shadowy throng of Phrygians May look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold, Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.

See, see! the squalid sisters come,