Have I been guilty, and my mother slain.
For 'tis by sin of mine that she is dead.1045
O lying Phoebus, now have I outdone
The impious fates.
With apprehensive feet
Let me go out upon my darkened way,
Planting my footsteps with a faltering tread,
And through the darkness grope with trembling hands.
Stay not thy flight, speed thy uncertain steps—1050
But hold! lest on thy mother's corse thou tread.