Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/242

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That worthily they might resound
Unto my grief. But, O ye gods,
Transform me to a weeping rock 185
On Sipylus; or set me where,
Between its grassy banks, the Po
Glides on, where grieving woods respond
To the mourning of the sisters sad
Of Phaethon; or to the shores
Of Sicily transport me. There,
Another Siren, let me mourn 190
The woeful fate of Thessaly.
Or bear me to the Thracian woods,
Where, underneath Ismarian shade,
The Daulian bird bewails her son.
Give me a form to fit my tears,
And let rough Trachin echo back 195
My cries of woe. The Cyprian maid
Still soothes her grieving heart with tears;
Still Ceyx's royal spouse bemoans
Her vanished lord; and Niobe,
Surviving life and grief, weeps on;
Her human form has Philomel
Escaped, and now with doleful notes
The Attic maid bewails her dead. 200
Oh, that my arms were feathered wings!
Oh, then, how happy would I be,
When, hidden in the forest depths,
I might lament in plaintive strain, 205
And live in fame as Iole,
The maiden bird. I saw, alas,
I saw my father's dreadful fate,
When, smitten with that deadly club,
He fell, in mangled fragments dashed 210
Throughout the palace hall. If then
His fate had granted burial,
How often had I searched, O sire,
For all thy parts!
How could I look upon thy death,
O Toxeus, with thy tender cheeks