  Of these two the troubled language—in the chamber as she heard, Lost herself in grief the daughter—thus took up the doleful word. The Daughter spake. Why to sorrow thus abandoned?—weep not thus, as all forlorn, Hear ye now my speech, my parents—and your sorrows may be borne. Me with right ye may abandon—none that right in doubt will call, Yield up her that best is yielded—I alone may save you all. Wherefore wishes man for children?—they in need mine help will be: Lo, the time is come, my parents—in your need find help in me. Ever here the son by offering—or hereafter doth atone, Either way is he th' atoner—hence the wise have named him son. Daughters too, the great forefathers—of a noble race desire, And I now shall prove their wisdom—saving thus from death my sire. In a little time we perish—who may dare to question how? But if first depart to heaven—he that after me was born, Cease our race's sacred offerings—our offended sires would mourn. Without father, without mother—of my brother too bereft, I shall die, unused to sorrow—yet to deepest sorrow left. But thyself, my sire! my mother—and my gentle brother save, And their meet, unfailing offerings—shall our fathers' spirits have. A second self the son, a friend the wife—the daughter's but a grief, From thy grief thy daughter offering—thou of right wilt find relief. Desolate and unprotected—ever wandering here and there, Shall I quickly be, my father!—reft of thy paternal care! But wert thou through me, my father—and thy race from peril freed, Noble fruit should I have borne thee—having done this single deed. But if thou from hence departing-leav'st me, noblest, to my fate, Down I sink to bitterest misery—save, Oh save me from that state! For mine own sake, and for virtue's—for our noble race's sake, Yield up her who best is yielded—me thine own life's ransom make. Instantly this step, the only—the inevitable take. Hath the world a fate more wretched—than when thou to heaven art fled, Like a dog to wander begging—and subsist on others' bread. But my father, thus preserving—thus preserving all that's thine, I shall then become immortal—and partake of bliss divine, And the gods, and our forefathers—all will hail the prudent choice, Still will have the water offerings—that their holy spirits rejoice. As they heard her lamentation—in their troubled anguish deep, Wept the father, wept the mother—'gan the daughter too to weep. And with both his eyes wide open—lisped he thus his broken word. "Weep not father, weep not mother—Oh my sister, weep not so!" First to one, and then to th' other—smiling went he to and fro. Then a blade of spear-grass lifting—thus in bolder glee he said, "With this spear-grass will I kill him—this man-eating giant dead." Though o'erpowered by bitterest sorrow—as they heard their prattling boy, Stole into the parents' bosoms—mute and inexpressive joy. |
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