Then, O sworn to requite man's evil wrathfully, Powers
Gracious, on whose grim brows, with viper tresses inorbed,
Looks red-breathing forth your bosom's feverous anger;
195 Now, yea now come surely, to these loud miseries harken,
All I cry, the afflicted, of inmost marrow arising,
Desolate, hot with pain, with blinding fury bewilder'd.
Yet, for of heart they spring, grief's children truly begotten,
Verily, Gods, these moans you will not idly to perish.
200 But with counsel of evil as he forsook me deceiving,
Death to his house, to his heart, bring also counsel of evil.
When from an anguish'd heart these words stream'd sorrowful upwards,
Words which on iron deeds did sue for deadly requital,
Bow'd with a nod of assent almighty the ruler of heaven.
205 With that dreadful motion aneath earth's hollow, the ruffled
Ocean shook, and stormy the stars 'gan tremble in ether.
Thereto his heart thick-sown with blindness cloudily dark'ning,
Thought not of all those words, Theseus, from memory fallen,
Words which his heedful soul had kept immovable ever.
210 Nor to his eager sire fair token of happy returning
Rais'd, when his eyes safe-sighted Erectheus' populous haven.
Once, so stories tell, when Pallas' city behind him
Leaving, Theseus' fleet to the winds given hopefully parted,
Clasping then his son spake Aegeus, straitly commanding.
215 Son, mine only delight, than life more lovely to gaze on,
Son, whom needs it faints me to launch full-tided on hazards,
Whom my winter of years hath laid so lately before me:
Since my fate unkindly, thy own fierce valour unheeding,
Needs must wrest thee away, ere yet these dimly-lit eye-balls
220 Feed to the full on thee, thy worshipt body beholding;
Neither in exultation of heart I send thee a-warring;
Nor to the fight shalt bear fair fortune's happier earnest;
Rather, first in cries mine heart shall lighten her anguish,
When greylocks I sully with earth, with sprinkle of ashes;
225 Next to the swaying mast shall a sail hang duskily swinging;
So this grief, mine own, this burning sorrow within me,
Want not a sign, dark shrouds of Iberia, sombre as iron.
Then, if haply the queen, lone ranger on haunted Itonus,
Pleas'd to defend our people, Erectheus' safe habitations,
230 Frown not, allow thine hand that bull all redly to slaughter,
Look that warily then deep-laid in steady remembrance,
These our words grow greenly, nor age move on to deface them;