Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/91

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Agamemnon.
21

Now o'er my spirit anxious fear
Broodeth, lest tidings I should hear
That night still shrouds in gloom;
For blind to deeds of blood the gods are not.
In Time the swarthy brood of Night
With slow eclipse reverse his lot,
Who Fortune reareth in despite
Of Justice. Reft of succour lies 450
The wretch once prone. Excessive praise
Is bodeful ever; 'gainst men's eyes
Zeus hurls his blinding rays.
But may ungrudged success be mine!
No city-spoiler let me be!
Nor, subject to another, pine
Myself in slavery.


Epode.

Borne by the joy-announcing flame
Swift through the town the tidings fly; 460
But whether true who may proclaim,
Or not a heavenly lie?
For who so childish, so distraught,
To warm his spirit at the beacon's glow,
When other news, with evil fraught,
His joy may change to woe?
'Tis woman's way the boon, ere seen, to prize;
Too credulous, her fancy open lies
To rumour's rapid inroad, but the fame 470
Published by women quickly dies.