Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 196

O could I speak to tell thee of his death!

Forth from the slain one's spouting blood arose

His mother's ghost;

And to the ancient daughters of the night

Cries—"Let him not escape—the matricide!

Pursue the victim, dedicate to you!"

They hear, and glare around with hollow eyes,

Like greedy eagles. In their murky dens

They stir themselves, and from the corners creep

Their comrades, dire Remorse and pallid Fear;

Before them fumes a mist of Acheron;

Perplexingly around the murderer's brow

The eternal contemplation of the past

Rolls in its cloudy circles. Once again

The grisly band, commission'd to destroy,

Pollute earth's beautiful and heaven-sown fields,

From which an ancient curse had banish'd them.

Their rapid feet the fugitive pursue;

They only pause to start a wilder fear.