476
APPENDIX.
Ο Pallas, Pallas! Now it bites again,
That bitter throb of pain:
Come, boy, in mercy smite
The father that begat thee; draw thy sword,
Sword none will dare to blame:
Heal thou the evil plight
With which thy mother, sold to guilt abhorred,
Hath kindled all my wrath with this foul shame.
Ah, might I see her fallen even so,
As she hath brought me low!
Ο Hades, dear and sweet,
Brother of Zeus on high,
Smite me with quickest death-blow, I entreat,
And give me rest, give rest from this my misery!
