Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/163

Oh gaping wound, still bleeding fresh:
O rent that ruined all,
And thrusting through fraternal flesh
Struck home at house and hall.
One bitter curse for both; yea, none
Hath less or more of malison!

Realm-wide the sound of mourning runs:
The bastioned walls make moan;
This earth that loveth her strong sons
Sends up a hollow groan;
And all they perished to possess
Waiting new heirs lies ownerless.

Too keen their cause to prosecute,
Too jealous for just share;
And he who solved their bitter suit
Think ye that he judged fair?
Ares that judgeth by the sword,—
Small thanks hath he for his reward!

To battle they had made appeal,
And battle heard their cause;
That iron judge, the trenchant steel,
Hath brought them to this pause,
In undisturbéd tenure cold
Their father's grave to have and hold!

Loud is my wail! My heart is rent
With grief's authentic cry!
No gladness lurks in this lament,
Feigned grief false thoughts belie!
The fountains of my being flow
For royal men in death laid low!