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245
Ah! then ’tis time, our heads in mantles hiding,
245
Our feet on some stol’n pathway now to ply,
245
Or with swift oarage o’er the billows gliding,
245
With ordered stroke to make the good ship fly
245
Such threats the Atridae, armed with two fold power,
Launch to assail us. Oh, I sadly fear
Stones from fierce hands on us and him will shower,
Whose heavy plight no comfort may come near.
’Tis changed, his rage, like sudden blast,
Without the lightning gleam is past
And now that Reason’s light returns,
New sorrow in his spirit burns.
For when we look on self made woe,
In which no hand but ours had part,
Thought of such griefs and whence they flow
Brings aching misery to the heart.
Ah! then ’tis time, our heads in mantles hiding,
245
Our feet on some stol’n pathway now to ply,
245
Or with swift oarage o’er the billows gliding,
245
With ordered stroke to make the good ship fly
245
Such threats the Atridae, armed with two fold power,
Launch to assail us. Oh, I sadly fear
Stones from fierce hands on us and him will shower,
Whose heavy plight no comfort may come near.
’Tis changed, his rage, like sudden blast,
Without the lightning gleam is past
And now that Reason’s light returns,
New sorrow in his spirit burns.
For when we look on self made woe,
In which no hand but ours had part,
Thought of such griefs and whence they flow
Brings aching misery to the heart.
Ajax. Sophocles. Lewis Campbell (Translator). London, New York and Toronto. 1906.