POETRY.
ASIA 1 aha! 0 woes on woes I
Again the bitter toil of faithful seer My whirling brain cloth vex with first-born bode.
See ye those young ones seated at the house,—
Such spectral forms as are the stuff of dreams?
Children (belike) who died by deed of kin, They hold, ye mark, their hands all filled with flesh, Their own flesh, banquet-ripe, aye, (piteous dish !) The loathesome meal of which their father ate.
I tell you 'tis to punish this he plots,
The dastard lion, slinking in the lair
He watched, forsooth I what time my master came,—
My master, for I cannot choose but serve.
He knows not, he, the captain of the fleet, Troy's devastator, how the lewd she-whelp With fawning tongue such welcome bath spun out, As shall, like At6, win to secret doom.
So far her daring goes. Man-slayer she, Yet woman. By what name of hateful beast Shall she be rightly called ? Or two-faced snake, Or rock-housed Scylla, bane of ships and men, Her offspring Death, her breath a ruthless curse Blown homewards? How she raised her cry of joy, The shameless one, as if for battle turned!
What glee she feigns, too, at the safe return!
And now what care I, if thou listen not ?
The day will come. And thou shalt see, and soon Shalt, pitying, say I was too true a seer. E. WELSH'.
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