Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/448

430 Too mindful I of my poor brother's ghost. And Oh, that he who guides the heavenly worlds, Who shakes the realms of earth with deadly bolts, And with his dreadful thunders awes our minds, Would whelm in fiery death this murderous prince. Strange portents have we seen: the comet dire, Shining with baleful light, his glowing train Far gleaming in the distant northern sky, Where slow Boötes, numb with arctic frosts, Directs his ponderous wagon's endless rounds. The very air is tainted by the breath Of this destructive prince; and for his sake The stars, resentful, threaten to destroy The nations which so dire a tyrant rules. Not such a pest was impious Typhon huge, Whom earth, in wrath and scorn of heaven, produced. This scourge is more destructive far than he. He is the bitter foe of gods and men, Who drives the heavenly beings from their shrines, And from their native land the citizens; Who from his brother took the breath of life, And drained his mother's blood. And does he live, This guilty wretch, and draw his tainted breath? O Jove, thou high-exalted father, why Dost thou so oft with thine imperial hand Thy darts invincible at random hurl? Why from his guilty head dost thou withhold Thy hand of vengeance? Oh, that he might pay For all his crimes the fitting penalty, This son of deified Domitius, This Nero, heartless tyrant of the world, Which he beneath the yoke of bondage holds, This moral blot upon a noble name! Nurse: Unworthy he to be thy mate, I know; But, dearest child, to fate and fortune yield, Lest thou excite thy savage husband's wrath. Perchance some god will come to right thy wrongs, And on thy life some happier day will dawn.