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Chorus
Woe, woe! Behold your dead sons’
bones are brought hither; take them, servants of your weak old mistress, for in me is no strength left by reason of my mourning for my sons; time’s comrade long have I been, and many a tear for many a sorrow have I shed.
1115
For what sharper pang wilt thou ever find for mortals than the sight of children dead?
1120
Woe, woe! Behold your dead sons’
bones are brought hither; take them, servants of your weak old mistress, for in me is no strength left by reason of my mourning for my sons; time’s comrade long have I been, and many a tear for many a sorrow have I shed.
1115
For what sharper pang wilt thou ever find for mortals than the sight of children dead?
1120
Children
Poor mother mine, behold I bring my father’s bones gathered from the fire,
a burden grief has rendered heavy, though this tiny urn contains my all.
1125
Poor mother mine, behold I bring my father’s bones gathered from the fire,
a burden grief has rendered heavy, though this tiny urn contains my all.
1125
Chorus
Ah me! ah me! Why bear thy tearful load to the fond mother of the dead,
a handful of ashes in the stead of those who erst were men of mark in Mycenae?
1130
Ah me! ah me! Why bear thy tearful load to the fond mother of the dead,
a handful of ashes in the stead of those who erst were men of mark in Mycenae?
1130
Children
Woe worth the hour! woe worth the day! Reft of my hapless sire, a wretched orphan shall I inherit a desolate house, torn from my father’s arms.
Woe worth the hour! woe worth the day! Reft of my hapless sire, a wretched orphan shall I inherit a desolate house, torn from my father’s arms.
Chorus
Woe is thee! Where is now the toil I spent upon my sons? what thank have I for nightly watch? Where the mother’s nursing care? the sleepless vigils mine eyes have kept? the loving kiss upon my children’s brow?
1135
Woe is thee! Where is now the toil I spent upon my sons? what thank have I for nightly watch? Where the mother’s nursing care? the sleepless vigils mine eyes have kept? the loving kiss upon my children’s brow?
1135
Children
Thy sons are dead and gone. Poor mother!
dead and gone; the boundless air now wraps them round.
1
1140
Thy sons are dead and gone. Poor mother!
dead and gone; the boundless air now wraps them round.
1
1140
Chorus
Turned to ashes by the flame, they have winged their flight to Hades.
2
Turned to ashes by the flame, they have winged their flight to Hades.
2
Children
Father, thou hearest thy children’s lamentation; say, shall I e’er, as warrior dight, avenge thy slaughter?
Father, thou hearest thy children’s lamentation; say, shall I e’er, as warrior dight, avenge thy slaughter?
Chorus
God grant it, O my child!
1145
God grant it, O my child!
1145
Children
Some day, if god so will, shall the avenging of my father be my task; not yet this sorrow sleeps.
Some day, if god so will, shall the avenging of my father be my task; not yet this sorrow sleeps.
Chorus
Alas! Fortune’s sorrows are enough for me, I have troubles and to spare already.
Alas! Fortune’s sorrows are enough for me, I have troubles and to spare already.
Children
Shall Asopus’ laughing tide ever reflect my brazen arms as I lead on my Argive troops?
1150
Shall Asopus’ laughing tide ever reflect my brazen arms as I lead on my Argive troops?
1150
Chorus
To avenge thy fallen sire.
To avenge thy fallen sire.
Children
Methinks I see thee still before my eyes, my father—
Methinks I see thee still before my eyes, my father—
Chorus
Printing a loving kiss upon thy cheek.
Printing a loving kiss upon thy cheek.
Children
But thy words of exhortation are borne on the winds away.
1155
But thy words of exhortation are borne on the winds away.
1155
Chorus
Two mourners hath he left behind, thy mother and thee, bequeathing to thee an endless legacy of grief for thy father.
Two mourners hath he left behind, thy mother and thee, bequeathing to thee an endless legacy of grief for thy father.
Children
The weight of grief I have to bear hath crushed me utterly.
The weight of grief I have to bear hath crushed me utterly.
Chorus
Come, let me clasp the ashes of my son to my bosom.
1160
Come, let me clasp the ashes of my son to my bosom.
1160
Children
I weep to hear that piteous word; it stabs me to the heart.
I weep to hear that piteous word; it stabs me to the heart.
Chorus
My child, thou art undone; no more shall I behold thee, thy own fond mother’s treasure.
My child, thou art undone; no more shall I behold thee, thy own fond mother’s treasure.
The Suppliant Maidens. Euripides. E. P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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