But he is king who knows no fear,
And he is king who has no lust;
And on his throne secure he sits
Who is self-crowned by conscious worth. 390
Let him who will, in pride of power,
Upon the brink of empire stand:
For me, be sweet repose enough;
In humble station fixed, would I
My life in gentle leisure spend, 395
In silence, all unknown to fame.
So when my days have passed away
From noisy, restless tumult free,
May I, in meek obscurity 400
And full of years, decline in death.
But death lies heavily on him
Who, though to all the world well known,
Is stranger to himself alone.
ACT III
[Enter Thyestes returning from banishment, accompanied by his three sons.]
Thyestes: At last do I behold the welcome roofs
Of this my fatherland, the teeming wealth
Of Argos, and, the greatest and the best
Of sights to weary exiles, here I see 405
My native soil and my ancestral gods
(If gods indeed there be). And there, behold,
The sacred towers by hands of Cyclops reared,
In beauty far excelling human art;
The race-course thronged with youth, where oftentimes
Have I within my father's chariot
Sped on to victory and fair renown. 410
Now will all Argos come to welcome me;
The thronging folk will come—and Atreus too!
Oh, better far reseek thy wooded haunts,
Thy glades remote, and, mingled with the brutes
Live e'en as they. Why should this splendid realm
With its fair-seeming glitter blind my eyes? 415
When thou dost look upon the goodly gift,
