ISSUE: Winter 1942
Decline of the west
Orestes killed, he killed as the gods bade
And bore the hideous furies on his back Until his agonized and wandering track Led him to Athens, penitent and mad.
There in the Areopagus among his peers He heard the god Apollo take his part.
The furies were rebuked; knowledge and art Prevailed, and broke the custom of the years.
You need, you need some Areopagus,
Nations, to pave the mire in which you grope,
That world-long slough, stinking and slaughterous.
And we whose crimes have not yet cost so dear,
We are not threatened yet enough for fear,
We have not yet endured enough for hope.
