If to the gods the Just and Right
Still pleasing be, still claim the palm's award.
Horror!
Are we come to the selfsame passion of fear,
Old friends?—such a phantasm fronts me here
Visible over the palace-roof!
In flight, in flight, the laggard limb
Bestir! and haste aloof
From that on the roof there—grand and grim!
O Paian, king!