How crabbèd and how scowling in the eyes
Is man's old age!—Would that my son likewise
Were happy of his hunting, in my way,
When with his warrior bands he will essay
The wild beast!—Nay, his valiance is to fight
With God's will! Father, thou shouldst set him right. . . .
Will no one bring him hither, that mine eyes
May look on his, and show him this my prize!
Cadmus.
Alas, if ever ye can know again
The truth of what ye did, what pain of pain
That truth shall bring! Or were it best to wait
Darkened for evermore, and deem your state
Not misery, though ye know no happiness?
Agave.
What seest thou here to chide, or not to bless?
Cadmus (after hesitation, resolving himself).
Raise me thine eyes to yon blue dome of air!
Agave.
'Tis done. What dost thou bid me seek for there?