Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/44

26 And now in denser gloom it settles down Upon his face, and, with its veiling cloud, It shuts away from him the fading light. Oh, speak, and till us what it doth portend. Tiresias: How can I speak, who halting stand amazed Amid conflicting voices of the soul? What shall I say? Dire ills are here, indeed, But hidden yet in deepest mystery. With signs well known the wrath of heaven is wont To be made manifest: but what is that Which now they would disclose, and then, again, With changing and destructive purpose hide? Some deed so vile, it shameth heaven to tell. But quickly set the chosen victims here, And sprinkle salted meal upon their heads. With peaceful face do they endure the rites, And hands outstretched to smite? Manto: His lofty head The bull uplifted to the eastern sky, Then shunned the light of day, and quickly turned In terror from the newly risen sun. Tiresias: With one blow, smitten, do they fall to earth? Manto: The heifer threw herself upon the steel, And with one blow has fallen; but the bull, Though smitten by a double deadly blow, Distracted wanders here and there in pain, And scarce can force his struggling life away. Tiresias: Driven through a narrow opening spurts the blood, Or, sluggish, does it water deeper wounds? Manto: The blood of one, through that same welcome thrust, Doth flow in generous streams; but of the bull, Those yawning wounds are stained with scanty drops, While, turning backward, through his eyes and mouth The plenteous current flows. Tiresias: These unblest rites Some dreadful ills portend. But come, describe The trusty markings of the viscera. Manto: Oh, what is this? For not, as is their wont, With gentle motion do the entrails quake,