For, as I pour the sacred liquid forth,
It changes straight to blood—Oh, horrible!325
And stifling smoke surrounds the royal head.
And now in denser gloom it settles down
Upon his face, and, with its veiling cloud,
It shuts away from him the fading light.
Oh, speak, and tell us what it doth portend.
Tiresias: How can I speak, who halting stand amazed
Amid conflicting voices of the soul?
What shall I say? Dire ills are here, indeed,