Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/81

Rh But now my crime sticks fast within my heart, And threatens ever to break out afresh; For what my blinded eyes have spared to me, Is through my ears poured in upon my soul. Oh, why do I not plunge this darkened life Into the eternal shadow-world of Dis? Why do I longer hold my spirit here? Why be a burden to the upper world, And wander still among the living men? What evil yet remains? My fatherland, My parents, children, valor—all are lost, And that illustrious glory of the mind; Yea, evil chance hath stripped me of my all. Tears yet remained, but these with my own hand Have I destroyed. Then go thy ways, my child. My soul will not give ear to any prayers, And only seeks new punishment for crime, And equal to my sin—if that can be. While yet an infant was I doomed to death. What mortal ever drew so hard a fate? Ere I had seen the light, while still confined Within the darksome prison of the womb, I was a thing of dread. The night of death Lays hold on many at the hour of birth, And snatches them away from dawning life; But death anticipated birth in me. Some are o'ertaken by untimely fate While still within the womb, yet without sin. But I, yet hid within the hold of life, While yet my very being was in doubt, Was by the heavenly oracle compelled To answer to a charge unspeakable. My sire condemned me at Apollo's word, And through my tender ankles thrust a rod Still glowing from the forge; then sent his child Into the forest deep, a prey for beasts And all the savage birds Cithaeron breeds, Accustomed to be stained with royal blood.