Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/167
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HIPPOLYTUS.
131
(Ant. 1)
For a tale they told of a fevered bed, of the feet that forth of her bower ne'er tread,
Of the dainty-woven veil that is cast
For a darkness over the tresses golden.
Yea, and by this hath the third day past
That the queen from her fainting lips hath withholden
The gift of the Lady of Corn,
Keeping her body thereof unfed, as though 'twere pollution to taste of bread,
With anguish unuttered longing forlorn
140 One haven to win—death's bourn.
(Str. 2)
O queen, what if this be possession
Of Pan or of Hekatê?—
Of the Mother of Dindymus' Hill?—
Or the awful Corybant thrill?—
Or Dictynna hath found transgression
Of offerings unrendered in thee—
If the hand of the Huntress be here?—
For she flasheth o'er mountain and mere,
And rideth her triumph-procession
150 Over surges and swirls of the sea.
(Ant. 2)
Or thy princely lord, in whose leading
Be the hosts of Erechtheus' race,
Hath one in his halls beguiled,
That thy couch is in secret defiled?
Or hath some sea-trafficker, speeding
From Crete over watery ways
To the haven where shipmen would be,
Brought dolorous tidings to thee
For a tale they told of a fevered bed, of the feet that forth of her bower ne'er tread,
Of the dainty-woven veil that is cast
For a darkness over the tresses golden.
Yea, and by this hath the third day past
That the queen from her fainting lips hath withholden
The gift of the Lady of Corn,
Keeping her body thereof unfed, as though 'twere pollution to taste of bread,
With anguish unuttered longing forlorn
140 One haven to win—death's bourn.
(Str. 2)
O queen, what if this be possession
Of Pan or of Hekatê?—
Of the Mother of Dindymus' Hill?—
Or the awful Corybant thrill?—
Or Dictynna hath found transgression
Of offerings unrendered in thee—
If the hand of the Huntress be here?—
For she flasheth o'er mountain and mere,
And rideth her triumph-procession
150 Over surges and swirls of the sea.
(Ant. 2)
Or thy princely lord, in whose leading
Be the hosts of Erechtheus' race,
Hath one in his halls beguiled,
That thy couch is in secret defiled?
Or hath some sea-trafficker, speeding
From Crete over watery ways
To the haven where shipmen would be,
Brought dolorous tidings to thee