And hold the champaigns of mine heritage;
Thy prayer won this of him that gave thee life.
And to thy right hand would he yield the club, 470
A feignèd gift, his carven battle-stay.
To thee[1] the land, by his far-smiting bow
Once wasted, promised he, Oechalia.
So with three princedoms would your sire exalt
His three sons, in his pride of your great hearts. 475
And I chose out the choice of Hellas' brides,
Linking to ours by marriage Athens' land,
And Thebes, and Sparta, that ye might, as ships
Moored by sheet-anchors, ride the storms of life.
All that is past: the wind of fate hath veered, 480
And given to you the Maids of Doom for brides,
Tears for my bride-baths. Woe for those my dreams!
And now your grandsire makes the spousal-feast
With Hades for brides' sire, grim marriage-kin.
Ah me! which first of all, or which the last, 485
To mine heart shall I press?—whom to my lips?
Whom shall I clasp? Oh but to gather store
Of moan, like brown-winged bee, from all grief's field,
And blend together in tribute of one tear!
Dear love,—if any in Hades of the dead 490
Can hear,—I cry this to thee, Herakles:
Thy sire, thy sons, are dying; doomed am I,
I, once through thee called blest in all men's eyes.
Help!—come!—though as a shadow, yet appear!
For thou by that bare coming shouldst suffice 495
To daunt the cravens who would slay thy sons.
Amphitryon.
Lady, the death-rites duly order thou.
- ↑ The third son, Deïkoön.
