To less and less awayThe Argeians’ flowery prime:And when a remedy more grave and grandThan aught before, — yea, for the storm and dearth, —The prophet to the foremost in commandShrieked forth, as cause of thisAdducing Artemis,So that the Atreidai striking staves on earthCould not withhold the tear) — Then did the king, the elder, speak this clear.Heavy the fate, indeed, — to disobey!Yet heavy if my child I slay,The adornment of my household: with the tideOf virgin-slaughter, at the altar-side,A father’s hands defiling: which the wayWithout its evils, say?How shall I turn fleet-fugitive,Failing of duty to allies?Since for a wind-abating sacrificeAnd virgin blood, — ’t is right they strive,Nay, madden with desire.Well may it work them — this that they require!But when he underwent necessity’sYoke-trace, — from soul blowing unhallowed changeUnclean, abominable, — thence—another man —The audacious mind of him beganIts wildest range.For this it is gives mortals hardihood —Some vice-devising miserable moodOf madness, and first woe of all the brood.