ARTEMIS Nay; thou hast done A heavy wrong; yet even beyond this ill Abides for thee forgiveness. 'Twas the will Of Cypris that these evil things should be, Sating her wrath. And this immutably Hath Zeus ordained in heaven: no God may thwart A God's fixed will; we grieve but stand apart. Else, but for fear of the Great Father's blame, Never had I to such extreme of shame Bowed me, be sure, as here to stand and see Slain him I loved best of mortality! Thy fault, O King, its ignorance sunders wide From very wickedness; and she who died By death the more disarmed thee, making dumb The voice of question. And the storm has come Most bitterly of all on thee! Yet I Have mine own sorrow, too. When good men die, There is no joy in heaven, albeit our ire On child and house of the evil falls like fire. [_A throng is seen approaching;_ HIPPOLYTUS _enters, supported by his attendants._] CHORUS Lo, it is he! The bright young head Yet upright there! Ah the torn flesh and the blood-stained hair; Alas for the kindred's trouble! It falls as fire from a God's hand sped, Two deaths, and mourning double. HIPPOLYTUS Ah, pain, pain, pain! O unrighteous curse! O unrighteous sire! No hope.--My head is stabbed with fire, And a leaping spasm about my brain. Stay, let me rest. I can no more. O fell, fell steeds that my own hand fed, Have ye maimed me and slain, that loved me of yore? --Soft there, ye thralls! No trembling hands As ye lift me, now!--Who is that that stands At the right?--Now firm, and with measured tread, Lift one accursèd and stricken sore By a father's sinning. Thou, Zeus, dost see me? Yea, it is I; The proud and pure, the server of God, The white and shining in sanctity! To a visible death, to an open sod, I walk my ways; And all the labour of saintly days Lost, lost, without meaning! Ah God, it crawls This agony, over me! Let be, ye thralls! Come, Death, and cover me: Come, O thou Healer blest! But a little more, And my soul is clear, And the anguish o'er! Oh, a spear, a spear! To rend my soul to its rest! Oh, strange, false Curse! Was there some blood-stained head, Some father of my line, unpunishèd, Whose guilt lived in his kin, And passed, and slept, till after this long day It lights... Oh, why on me? Me, far away And innocent of sin? O words that cannot save! When will this breathing end in that last deep Pain that is painlessness? 'Tis sleep I crave. When wilt thou bring me sleep, Thou dark and midnight magic of the grave! ARTEMIS Sore-stricken man, bethink thee in this stress, Thou dost but die for thine own nobleness.