XVI
—Infatuate queen, who oft as lingering day
Rounds to his close, and passion’s hour is nigh,
Through Atreus’ halls on soundless foot doth hie,
And from the tower the purpling east survey—
Lest in the still and fearful night’s thick play,
While by her beating side doth sweltering lie
Sallow Ægisthus with the hawking eye,
Swift Fate prepare a swifter stroke than they;
And while love’s maddening vintage they partake,
A sudden flame should redden all the land,
And beacon call to beacon, where they break
From the lone watchman on the Ægean strand.
“The ship! the ship! His ship comes tossing o’er
The wine-dark sea. The King is at the door.”
Hesepe, 9th June