First who gave thee name from under earth, no breath from upper skies,

When, foredoomed to this day's darkness, their first daylight filled thine eyes.

PRAXITHEA.

Child, my child that wast and art but death's and now no more of mine,

870

Half my heart is cloven with anguish by the sword made sharp for thine,

Half exalts its wing for triumph, that I bare thee thus divine.

CHTHONIA.

Though for me the sword's edge thirst that sets no point against thy breast,

Mother, O my mother, where I drank of life and fell on rest,

Thine, not mine, is all the grief that marks this hour accurst and blest.

[Pg 51]

[Pg 51]

CHORUS.

Sweet thy sleep and sweet the bosom was that gave thee sleep and birth;

Harder now the breast, and girded with no marriage-band for girth,

Where thine head shall sleep, the namechild of the lords of under earth.

PRAXITHEA.

Dark the name and dark the gifts they gave thee, child, in childbirth were,

Sprung from him that rent the womb of earth, a bitter seed to bear,

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