Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/64

46 That for my crimes by never-ending pain I may atone. Now use thy wit, poor soul. Since by repeated death thou canst not die, Choose then some form of lingering death in life, Some way by which, not numbered with the dead, Nor yet the living, thou mayst linger on. So die, that in thy death thou mayst remain Without the land wherein thy father dwells. O soul, why dost thou hesitate?" And then A sudden stream of tears o'erspread his face, And wet his cheeks. "And can my tears suffice? Too long my eyes these useless showers have poured; Nay, let them follow where the tears have flowed, From out their sockets driven. O gods of wedlock, Is this enough? These eyes must be removed." He spoke with frenzied rage; and all the while His cheeks were flaming with a dangerous light, And his starting eyeballs strained to leave their seats. His face was full of passion, fierce resolve. Groaning he thrust his hands into his eyes; And those fierce eyes stood forth to meet his hands, And eager followed of their own accord Their kindred hands, as courting that deep wound. Deep in with hooked fingers he explores,  And rends his eyeballs from their deepest roots. Still stays his hands within those empty seats, And tears the hollow sockets with his nails, With savage joy, with vain and endless rage;  So great his fear and hatred of the light. He lifts his head, and with those empty eyes The heavens surveying, tests his darkened sight. Whatever from his mangled eyes still hangs, He tears away, and now in triumph cries To all the gods: "Oh, spare my country now, I pray; for I have done what must be done, And I have paid the penalty I owed. Now have I found at last a fitting night To match my impious wedlock." As he speaks, His face is watered by a hideous shower,