Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 210

I scatter fragrant incense in the flame.

O let the pure, the gentle breath of love,

Low murmuring, cool thy bosom's fiery glow.

Orestes, fondly lov'd—canst thou not hear me?

Hath the terrific Furies' grisly band

Dried up the blood of life within thy veins?

Creeps there, as from the Gorgon's direful head,

A petrifying charm through all thy limbs?

With hollow accents from a mother's blood,

If voices call thee to the shades below,

May not a sister's word with blessing rife

Call from Olympus' height help-rendering gods?