In upward-shooting columns, straight and high,
But settles down like a disfiguring shroud
Upon the very statues of the gods. 775
O all-enduring sun, though thou didst flee
In horror from the sight, and the radiant noon
Didst into darkness plunge; 'twas all too late.
The father tears his sons, and impiously feasts
On his own flesh. See, there in state he sits,
His hair anointed with the dripping nard, 780
His senses dulled with wine. And oft the food,
As if in horror held, sticks in his throat.
In this thine evil hour one good remains,
One only, O Thyestes: that to know
Thy depth of suffering is spared to thee.
But even this will perish. Though the sun
Should turn his chariot backward on its course, 785
And night, at noon arising from the earth,
Should quite obscure this foul and ghastly crime
With shades unknown, it could not be concealed;
For every evil deed shall be revealed.
[Unnatural darkness has come over the world at midday.]
Chorus: O father of the earth and sky,
Before whose rising beams the night 790
With all her glories flees away;
Oh, whither dost thou turn thy course,
And why, midway of heaven, does day
To darkness turn? O Phoebus, why
Dost turn away thy shining face?
Not yet has evening's messenger
Called forth the nightly stars; not yet 795
The rounding of thy western goal
Bids loose thy horses from their toil;
Not yet, as day fades into night,
Sounds forth the trumpets' evening call.
The plowman stands in dumb amaze, 800
With oxen still unspent with toil,
To see the welcome supper hour
So quickly come. But what, O sun,
