THE BACCHANALS.
431
Kadmus.
Whose head—whose?—art thou bearing in thine arms?
Agave.
A lion's—so said they which hunted it.
Kadmus.
Look well thereon:—small trouble this, to look. 1280
Agave.
Ah-h! what do I see? What bear I in mine hands?
Kadmus.
Gaze, gaze on it, and be thou certified.
Agave.
I see—mine uttermost anguish! Woe is me!
Kadmus.
Seems it to thee now like a lion's head?
Agave.
No!—wretched!—wretched!—Pentheus' head I hold! 1285
Kadmus.
Of me bewailed ere recognised of thee.
Agave.
Who murdered him? How came he to mine hands?
Kadmus.
O piteous truth that so untimely dawns!
