Chorus
O to be nestling ’neath some pathless cavern, there by god’s creating hand to grow into a bird amid the winged tribes!
Away would I soar to Adrians wave-beat shore and to the waters of Eridanus; where a father’s hapless daughters
1
in their grief for Phaethon
735
distil into the glooming flood the amber brilliance of their tears.
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Hippolytus. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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