Cashadvance High o'er the palace were they seen to soar, Then lit in sight of all, and rent and tare, Far from the fields that she should range no more, Big with her unborn brood, a mother-hare. Ah woe and well-a-day! but be the issue fair!

And one beheld, the soldier-prophet true, And the two chiefs, unlike of soul and will, In the twy-coloured eagles straight he knew, And spake the omen forth, for good and in. Go forth, he cried, and Priam's town shall fall. Yet long the time shall be; and flock and herd, The people's wealth, that roam before the wall, Shall force hew down, when Fate shall give the word, But O beware! lest wrath in Heaven abide, To dim the glowing battle-forge once more, And mar the mighty curb of Trojan pride, The steel of vengeance, welded as for war! For virgin Artemis bears jealous hate Against the royal house, the eagle-pair, Who rend the unborn brood, insatiate- Yea, loathes their banquet on the quivering hare. Ah woe and well-a-day! but be the issue fair!

Cashadvance for well she loves-the goddess kind and mild- The tender new-born cubs of lions bold, Too weak to range-and well the sucking child Of every beast that roams by wood and wold. So to the Lord of Heaven she prayeth still, "Nay, if it must be, be the omen true! Yet do the visioned eagles presage ill; The end be well, but crossed with evil too!" Healer Apollo! be her wrath controll'd Nor weave the long delay of thwarting gales, To war against the Danaans and withhold From the free ocean-waves their eager sails! She craves, alas! to see a second life Shed forth, a curst unhallowed sacrifice- 'Twixt wedded souls, artificer of strife, And hate that knows not fear, and fell device. At home there tarries like a lurking snake, Biding its time, a wrath unreconciled, A wily watcher, passionate to slake, In blood, resentment for a murdered child. Such was the mighty warning, pealed of yore- Amid good tidings, such the word of fear, What time the fateful eagles hovered o'er The kings, and Calchas read the omen clear. In strains like his, once more, Sing woe and well-a-day! but be the issue fair! Zeus-if to The Unknown That name of many names seem good- Zeus, upon Thee I call. Thro' the mind's every road cashadvance I passed, but vain are all, Save that which names thee Zeus, the Highest One, Were it but mine to cast away the load, The weary load, that weighs my spirit down.

He that was Lord of old, In full-blown pride of place and valour bold, Hath fallen and is gone, even as an old tale told: And he that next held sway, By stronger grasp o'erthrown Hath pass'd away! And whoso now shall bid the triumph-chant arise To Zeus, and Zeus alone, He shall be found the truly wise.

'Tis Zeus alone who shows the perfect way Of knowledge: He hath ruled, Men shall learn wisdom, by affliction schooled. In visions of the night, like dropping rain, Descend the many memories of pain Before the spirit's sight: through tears and dole Comes wisdom o'er the unwilling soul- A boon, I wot, of all Divinity, That holds its sacred throne in strength, above the sky!

And then the elder chief, at whose command The fleet of Greece was manned, Cast on the seer no word of hate, But veered before the sudden breath of Fate- Ah, weary while! for, ere they put forth sail, Did every store, each minish'd vessel, fail, While all the Achaean host At Aulis anchored lay, Looking across to Chalcis and the coast Where refluent waters welter, rock, and sway; And rife with ill delay From northern Strymon blew the thwarting blast- Mother of famine fell, That holds men wand'ring still Far from the haven where they fain would be!- And pitiless did waste cashadvance Each ship and cable, rotting on the sea, And, doubling with delay each weary hour, Withered with hope deferred th' Achaeans' warlike flower. But when, for bitter storm, a deadlier relief, And heavier with ill to either chief, Pleading the ire of Artemis, the seer avowed, The two Atreidae smote their sceptres on the plain, And, striving hard, could not their tears restrain!

And then the elder monarch spake aloud- Ill lot were mine, to disobey! And ill, to smite my child, my household's love and pride! To stain with virgin blood a father's hands, and slay My daughter, by the altar's side! 'Twixt woe and woe I dwell- I dare not like a recreant fly, And leave the league of ships, and fail each true ally; For rightfully they crave, with eager fiery mind, The virgin's blood, shed forth to lull the adverse wind- God send the deed be well!

Thus on his neck he took Fate's hard compelling yoke; Then, in the counter-gale of will abhorr'd, accursed, To recklessness his shifting spirit veered- Alas! that Frenzy, first of ills and worst, With evil craft men's souls to sin hath ever stirred! And so he steeled his heart-ah, well-a-day- Aiding a war for one false woman's sake, His child to slay, And with her spilt blood make An offering, to speed the ships upon their way!

Lusting for war, the bloody arbiters Closed heart and ears, and would nor hear nor heed The girl-voice plead, Pity me, Father! nor her prayers, cashadvance Nor tender, virgin years. So, when the chant of sacrifice was done, Her father bade the youthful priestly train Raise her, like some poor kid, above the altar-stone, From where amid her robes she lay Sunk all in swoon away- Bade them, as with the bit that mutely tames the steed, Her fair lips' speech refrain, Lest she should speak a curse on Atreus' home and seed,

So, trailing on the earth her robe of saffron dye, With one last piteous dart from her beseeching eye. Those that should smite she smote Fair, silent, as a pictur'd form, but fain To plead, Is all forgot? How oft those halls of old, Wherein my sire high feast did hold, Rang to the virginal soft strain, When I, a stainless child, Sang from pure lips and undefiled, Sang of my sire, and all His honoured life, and how on him should fall Heaven's highest gift and gain!

And then-but I beheld not, nor can tell, What further fate befell: But this is sure, that Calchas' boding strain Can ne'er be void or vain. This wage from justice' hand do sufferers earn, The future to discern: And yet-farewell, O secret of cashadvance To-morrow! Fore-knowledge is fore-sorrow. Clear with the clear beams of the morrow's sun, The future presseth on. Now, let the house's tale, how dark soe'er, Find yet an issue fair!- So prays the loyal, solitary band That guards the Apian land.