My death, who died by matricidal hands.
Behold these wounds![n15] look through thy sleep, and see!
Read with thy heart; some things the soul may scan
More clearly, when the sensuous lid hath dropt,
Nor garish day confounds.[n16] Full oft have ye
Of my libations sipped the wineless streams,
The soothing? of my sober sacrifice,
The silent supper from the solemn altar,
At midnight hour when only ye are worshipped.
But now all this beneath your feet lies trampled.