Nought she loves the breath of blood, the savour, Who hath built with us her throne and chosen her part. Bloodless are her works, and sweet [Epode. 830 All the ways that feel her feet; From the empire of her eyes Light takes life and darkness flies; From the harvest of her hands Wealth strikes root in prosperous lands; Wisdom of her word is made; At her strength is strength afraid; War's fleet foot goes back for fear; By no hand but his shall she Scourge the storms back of the sea, Grace, being dead, with hers to live, And in double name divine Half the godhead of their shrine. 840 But now with what word, with what woe may we meet The timeless passage of piteous feet, Hither that bend to the last way's end They shall walk upon earth? What song be rolled for a bride black-stoled 850 And the mother whose hand of her hand hath hold? For anguish of heart is my soul's strength broken And the tongue sealed fast that would fain have spoken, To behold thee, O child of so bitter a birth That we counted so sweet, What way thy steps to what bride-feast tend, 860 What gift he must give that shall wed thee for token If the bridegroom be goodly to greet. CHTHONIA. People, old men of my city, lordly wise and hoar of head, I a spouseless bride and crownless but with garlands of the dead From the fruitful light turn silent to my dark un childed bed. E CHORUS. Wise of word was he too surely, but with deadlier wisdom wise, First who gave thee name from under earth, no breath from upper skies, When, foredoomed to this day's darkness, their first daylight filled thine eyes. PRAXITHEA. Child, my child that wast and art but death's and now no more of mine, Half my heart is cloven with anguish by the sword made sharp for thine, 870 Half exalts its wing for triumph, that I bare thee thus divine. CHTHONIA. Though for me the sword's edge thirst that sets no point against thy breast, Mother, O my mother, where I drank of life and fell on rest, Thine, not mine, is all the grief that marks this hour accurst and blest. CHORUS. Sweet thy sleep and sweet the bosom was that gave thee sleep and birth ; Harder now the breast, and girded with no marriageband for girth, Where thine head shall sleep, the namechild of the lords of under earth. PRAXITHEA. Dark the name and dark the gifts they gave thee, child, in childbirth were, Sprung from him that rent the womb of earth, a bitter seed to bear, Born with groanings of the ground that gave him way toward heaven's dear air. 880 CHTHONIA. Day to day makes answer, first to last, and life to death; but I, Born for death's sake, die for life's sake, if indeed this be to die, This my doom that seals me deathless till the springs of time run dry. CHORUS. Children shalt thou bear to memory, that to man shalt bring forth none; Yea, the lordliest that lift eyes and hearts and songs to meet the sun, Names to fire men's ears like music till the round world's race be run. PRAXITHEA. I thy mother, named of Gods that wreak revenge and brand with blame, Now for thy love shall be loved as thou, and famous with thy fame, While this city's name on earth shall be for earth her mightiest name. CHTHONIA. That I may give this poor girl's blood of mine Fallen of these innocent veins on the cold ground 890 |