And fain would Zeus have saved his tired son, Beholding him where the Two Pillars stand O’er the sun-reddened western straits,[14] Or at his work in that dim lower world. Fain would he have recalled The fraudulent oath which bound To a much feebler wight the heroic man. But he preferred fate to his strong desire. Nor did there need less than the burning pile Under the towering Trachis crags, And the Spercheios vale, shaken with groans, And the roused Maliac gulf, And scared Œtæan snows, To achieve his son’s deliverance, O my child! _FRAGMENT OF CHORUS OF A “DEJANEIRA.”_ O frivolous mind of man, Light ignorance, and hurrying, unsure thoughts! Though man bewails you not, How _I_ bewail you! Little in your prosperity Do you seek counsel of the gods. Proud, ignorant, self-adored, you live alone. In profound silence stern, Among their savage gorges and cold springs, Unvisited remain The great oracular shrines. Thither in your adversity Do you betake yourselves for light, But strangely misinterpret all you hear. For you will not put on New hearts with the inquirer’s holy robe, And purged, considerate minds. And him on whom, at the end Of toil and dolour untold, The gods have said that repose At last shall descend undisturbed,-- Him you expect to behold In an easy old age, in a happy home: No end but this you praise. But him on whom, in the prime Of life, with vigor undimmed, With unspent mind, and a soul Unworn, undebased, undecayed, Mournfully grating, the gates Of the city of death have forever closed,-- _Him_, I count _him_, well-starred. _EARLY DEATH AND FAME._ For him who must see many years, I praise the life which slips away Out of the light, and mutely; which avoids Fame, and her less fair followers, envy, strife, Stupid detraction, jealousy, cabal, Insincere praises; which descends The quiet mossy track to age. But when immature death Beckons too early the guest From the half-tried banquet of life, Young, in the bloom of his days; Leaves no leisure to press, Slow and surely, the sweets Of a tranquil life in the shade,-- Fuller for him be the hours! Give him emotion, though pain! Let him live, let him feel, _I have lived_. Heap up his moments with life! Triple his pulses with fame! _PHILOMELA._ Hark! ah, the nightingale-- The tawny-throated! Hark! from that moonlit cedar what a burst! What triumph! hark! what pain!