Classic Poem

Strophe I

Many dread forms of woe and fear the Earth
 Doth breed; and Ocean's deep
Is full of foes men hate, of monstrous birth;
And Air's high pathways keep
Their flashing meteors; birds that wing their flight,
 And things on earth that creep;
And one might tell the wrath of whirlwind's might,
 When tempests wildly sweep.

A NTISTROPHE I

But who can tell man's purpose overbold?
 Or woman's, prompt to dare?
Or the strong loves that men in bondage hold,
 And bring woe everywhere?
Or strange conjunctions of the hearth and home?
 But still the palm they bear,
The loves unloved that women overcome,
 And hold dominion there.

Strophe II

And one whose thoughts are not o'erswift of wing,
 May learn and ponder well
What purpose Thestios' child to act did bring,
 Purpose most dire and fell,
Her burning thought who did her own child slay,
 Kindling the torch of death
That with her child's life kept its equal way,
Since coming from his mother's womb he cried,
To that predestined day on which at last he died.

A NTISTROPHE II

And yet another must I in my song
Devote to hate and scorn,
The murderess Skylla, who to deeds of wrong
By Minos' gifts was borne,
And for her foes' sake slew a man she loved
For Cretan chains gold-wrought;
She with dog's heart the deathless lock removed
From him, in deep sleep sunk; yet Hermes' power
She too was taught at last at her appointed hour.

Strophe III

But since I tell my tale of loathly crime,
And of ill-omened marriage out of time,
Wedlock our house abhors,
The schemes and plots of women steeped in guile
Against a warrior chief, a chief erewhile
The dread of foes in wars,
The foremost place I give to altar-hearth
Where no wrath burns and woman knows the worth
Of mood from daring free.

A NTISTROPHE III

Yet of all ills the Lemnian first may stand,
The cry of loathing rings through all the land,
And still each crime of dread
A man will liken to the Lemnian ill;
And now by woe that comes from God's stern will
The race is gone and fled,
Of all men scorned, for no man looks with love
On deeds that to the high Gods hateful prove;
Is not this clear to see?

Strophe IV

And lo! the sword sharp-pointed pierces deep,
 E'en to the heart, the sword which Vengeance wields;
The lawless deed will not neglected sleep,
 When men tread down what fear of high heaven shields;

A NTISTROPHE IV

But still the block of Vengeance firm doth stand,
 And Fate, as swordsmith, hammers blow on blow;
And then with thoughts that none can understand,
 Erinnys comes far known, though working slow,
And to the old house brings the youthful heir,
 That deeds of blood wrought out of olden time
May the due judgment bear
For each polluting crime.