Erechtheus | Page 5

being by name
To the under Gods made
holy, who require
For this land's life her death and maiden blood
To
save a maiden city. Thus I heard,
And thus with all said leave thee;
for save this
No word is left us, and no hope alive.
CHORUS.
He hath uttered too surely his wrath not obscurely, nor wrapt
as in mists of his breath, [_Str._ The master that lightens not hearts he
enlightens, but gives them
foreknowledge of death. 350 As a bolt from the cloud hath he sent it
aloud and proclaimed
it afar,
From the darkness and height of the horror of night hath he
shown us a star.
Star may I name it and err not, or flame shall I say,
Born of the womb that was born for the tomb of the day? O Night,
whom other but thee for mother, and Death for the father,
Night, [_Ant._ Shall we dream to discover, save thee and thy lover, to
bring

such a sorrow to sight?
From the slumberless bed for thy bedfellow
spread and his bride
under earth
Hast thou brought forth a wild and insatiable child, an
unbearable
birth.
Fierce are the fangs of his wrath, and the pangs that they give;
None is there, none that may bear them, not one that would
live. 360
CHTHONIA.
Forth of the fine-spun folds of veils that hide
My virgin chamber
toward the full-faced sun
I set my foot not moved of mine own will,

Unmaidenlike, nor with unprompted speed
Turn eyes too broad or
doglike unabashed
On reverend heads of men and thence on thine,

Mother, now covered from the light and bowed
As hers who mourns
her brethren; but what grief
Bends thy blind head thus earthward,
holds thus mute,
I know not till thy will be to lift up 370 Toward
mine thy sorrow-muffled eyes and speak;
And till thy will be would I
know this not.
PRAXITHEA.
Old men and childless, or if sons ye have seen
And daughters,
elder-born were these than mine,
Look on this child, how young of
years, how sweet,
How scant of time and green of age her life
Puts
forth its flower of girlhood; and her gait
How virginal, how soft her
speech, her eyes
How seemly smiling; wise should all ye be,
All
honourable and kindly men of age; 380 Now give me counsel and one
word to say
That I may bear to speak, and hold my peace

Henceforth for all time even as all ye now.
Dumb are ye all, bowed
eyes and tongueless mouths,
Unprofitable; if this were wind that
speaks,
As much its breath might move you. Thou then, child,
Set

thy sweet eyes on mine; look through them well;
Take note of all the
writing of my face
As of a tablet or a tomb inscribed
That bears me
record; lifeless now, my life 390 Thereon that was think written; brief
to read,
Yet shall the scripture sear thine eyes as fire
And leave
them dark as dead men's. Nay, dear child,
Thou hast no skill, my
maiden, and no sense
To take such knowledge; sweet is all thy lore,

And all this bitter; yet I charge thee learn
And love and lay this up
within thine heart,
Even this my word; less ill it were to die
Than
live and look upon thy mother dead,
Thy mother-land that bare thee;
no man slain 400 But him who hath seen it shall men count unblest,

None blest as him who hath died and seen it not.
CHTHONIA.
That sight some God keep from me though I die.
PRAXITHEA.
A God from thee shall keep it; fear not this.
CHTHONIA.
Thanks all my life long shall he gain of mine.
PRAXITHEA.
Short gain of all yet shall he get of thee.
CHTHONIA.
Brief be my life, yet so long live my thanks.
PRAXITHEA.
So long? so little; how long shall they live?
CHTHONIA.

Even while I see the sunlight and thine eyes.
PRAXITHEA.
Would mine might shut ere thine upon the sun. 410
CHTHONIA.
For me thou prayest unkindly; change that prayer.
PRAXITHEA.
Not well for me thou sayest, and ill for thee.
CHTHONIA.
Nay, for me well, if thou shalt live, not I.
PRAXITHEA.
How live, and lose these loving looks of thine?
CHTHONIA.
It seems I too, thus praying, then, love thee not.
PRAXITHEA.
Lov'st thou not life? what wouldst thou do to die?
CHTHONIA.
Well, but not more than all things, love I life.
PRAXITHEA.
And fain wouldst keep it as thine age allows?
CHTHONIA.

Fain would I live, and fain not fear to die.
PRAXITHEA.
That I might bid thee die not! Peace; no more. 420
CHORUS.
A godlike race of grief the Gods have set
For these to run matched
equal, heart with heart.
PRAXITHEA.
Child of the chief of Gods, and maiden crowned,
Queen of these
towers and fostress of their king,
Pallas, and thou my father's holiest
head,
A living well of life nor stanched nor stained,
O God
Cephisus, thee too charge I next,
Be to me judge and