To fair Kerchneia’s stream and Lerna’s shore
I hasted. And upon my traces still,
Of rage unslaked, with myriad eyes agaze,
The earth-born huntsman Argus followed hard.
Him unawares a sudden death o’ertook,
And reft him of his life. From land to land,
Heaven’s scourge, the unsleeping gadfly, drives me still.
My tale is told. What time has yet in store
For me to suffer, tell me if thou canst:
Not pitying think with lies to comfort me: