Heavy the fate, indeed, — to disobey!
Yet heavy if my child I slay,
The adornment of my household: with the tide
Of virgin-slaughter, at the altar-side,
A father’s hands defiling: which the way
Without its evils, say?
How shall I turn fleet-fugitive,
Failing of duty to allies?
Since for a wind-abating sacrifice
And virgin blood, — ’t is right they strive,
Nay, madden with desire.
Well may it work them — this that they require!
But when he underwent necessity’sYoke-trace, — from soul blowing unhallowed changeUnclean, abominable, — thence—another man —The audacious mind of him beganIts wildest range.For this it is gives mortals hardihood —Some vice-devising miserable moodOf madness, and first woe of all the brood.