_Messenger:_ Would that he had! I do not pray for this, That friendly earth may give them burial, Or funeral fires consume; but only this, 750 That as a ghastly meal they may be thrown To birds and savage beasts. Such is my prayer, Which otherwise were direful punishment. Oh, that the father might their corpses see Denied to sepulture! Oh, crime of crimes, Incredible in any age; a crime Which coming generations will refuse To hear! Behold, from breasts yet warm with life, 755 The exta, plucked away, lie quivering, The lungs still breathe, the timid heart still beats. But he the organs with a practiced hand Turns deftly over, and inquires the fates, Observing carefully the viscera. With this inspection satisfied at length, With mind at ease, he now is free to plan 760 His brother's awful feast. With his own hand The bodies he dismembers, carving off The arms and shoulders, laying bare the bones, And all with savage joy. He only saves The heads and hands, those hands which he himself Had clasped in friendly faith. Some of the flesh Is placed on spits and by the roasting fires 765 Hangs dripping; other parts into a pot Are thrown, where on the water's seething stream They leap about. The fire in horror shrinks From the polluting touch of such a feast, Recoils upon the shuddering altar-hearth Twice and again, until at last constrained, Though with repugnance strong, it fiercely burns. The liver sputters strangely on the spits; 770 Nor could I say whether the flesh or flames Groan more. The fitful flames die out in smoke Of pitchy blackness; and the smoke itself, A heavy mournful cloud, mounts not aloft In upward-shooting columns, straight and high, But settles down like a disfiguring shroud Upon the very statues of the gods. 775 O all-enduring sun, though thou didst flee In horror from the sight, and the radiant noon Didst into darkness plunge; 'twas all too late. The father tears his sons, and impiously feasts On his own flesh. See, there in state he sits, His hair anointed with the dripping nard, 780 His senses dulled with wine. And oft the food, As if in horror held, sticks in his throat. In this thine evil hour one good remains, One only, O Thyestes: that to know Thy depth of suffering is spared to thee. But even this will perish. Though the sun Should turn his chariot backward on its course, 785 And night, at noon arising from the earth, Should quite obscure this foul and ghastly crime With shades unknown, it could not be concealed; For every evil deed shall be revealed. * * * * * [_Unnatural darkness has come over the world at midday._]