Re-echo, and the widespread waves Of ocean, and the air above 1110 Which had thy darts in better use Beheld. Thy breast, with ills beset So mighty, must with no light blow Be smitten. With one great sound of grief Let heaven, sea, and hell be filled. And thou, brave shaft, above his neck 1115 So long suspended, armament And weapon too, thou quiver huge, Smite heavily his savage back. Thou sturdy club of oak, come beat His mighty shoulders, and oppress 1120 His breast with thy hard-knotted stock. Let all his weapons worthily Of so great grief lament with him. [_To the dead children._] But you, who in your father's praise Can never share, who ne'er from kings Have taken deadly recompense, Who never in the Argive games Have learned to bend your youthful limbs, In wrestling and in boxing strong 1125 To strive; who have but dared as yet To poise the slender Scythian dart With steady hand, and pierce the stag Who safety seeks in flight, but not The lion fierce with tawny mane: 1130 Go to your Stygian refuge, go, Ye guiltless shades, who on life's verge Have by your father's mad assault Been overwhelmed. Poor children, born Of an ill-omened, luckless race, 1135 Fare on along your father's toilsome path, To where the gloomy monarchs sit in wrath! ACT V