[Pppehrserver-law-us] side, mither, y

Wed Mar 31 00:49:06 CEST 2010

F thou waken the birds to their song, dost thou waken no sorrow; Waken
no
sick to their pain; no captive to wrench at his fetters? Smile on the
garden and
fold, and on maidens who sing at the milking; Flash into tapestried
chambers, and peep
in the eyelids of lovers, Showing the blissful their bliss--Dost love,
then, the place where thou smilest? Lovest thou
cities aflame, fierce blows, and
the shrieks of the widow? Lovest

thou corpse-strewn fields, as thou lightest the path of the

vulture? Lovest thou these, that thou gazest so gay on my tears, and
my mother's, Laughing alike at the horror of one, and the bliss of
another? What dost thou care, in thy sky, for the joys and the sorrows
of mortals? Colder art thou than the nymphs: in thy broad bright eye
is no seeing. Hadst thou a soul--as much soul
as the slaves in the house of my father, Wouldst thou not save? Poor
thralls! they pitied me, clung to me weeping, Kissing my hands and my
feet--What, are gods more ruthless than mortals? Worse than the souls
which they rule? Let me die: they war not with ashes!' Sudden she
ceased, with a shriek: in the spray, like a hovering foam-bow, Hung,
more fair than the foam-bow, a boy in the bloom of his manhood,
Golden-haired, ivory-limbed, ambrosial; over his shoulder Hung for a
veil of his beauty the gold-fringed
folds of the goat-skin, Bearing the brass of his shield, as the sun
flashed clear on its clearness. Curved on his thigh lay a falchion,
and under the gleam of
his helmet Eyes more blue than the main shone awful; around
him Athene Shed in her love su
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