Nor will I lift up heart to sing to flute
Of Libya: thou hast robbed my life of mirth.
And, wrought by craftsmen's cunning hands, thy form
Imaged, upon a couch outstretched shall lie,
Falling whereon, and clasping with mine hands, 350
Calling thy name, in fancy shall mine arms
Hold my belovèd, though I hold her not:—
A chill delight, I wot: yet shall I lift
The burden from my soul. In dreams shalt thou
Haunt me and gladden: sweet to see the loved, 355
Though but a fleeting presence night-revealed.
But, were the tongue and strain of Orpheus mine,
To witch Demeter's Daughter and her lord,
And out of Hades by my song to win thee,
I had fared down: nor Pluto's Hound had stayed me, 360
Nor Spirit-wafter Charon at the oar,
Or ever I restored thy life to light.
Yet there look thou for me, whenso I die;
Prepare a home, as who shall dwell with me.
For in the selfsame cedar chest, wherein 365
Thou liest, will I bid them lay my bones
Outstretched beside thee: ne'er may I be severed,
No, not in death, from thee, my one true friend.
Chorus.
Yea, I withal will mourn, as friend with friend,
With thee for this thy wife, for she is worthy. 370
Alcestis.
My children, ye yourselves have heard all this,
Have heard your father pledge him ne'er to wed
For your oppression and for my dishonour.
