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Chorus
No more a happy mother I, with children blest; no more I share, among Argive women, who have sons, their happy lot; nor any more will Artemis in the hour of travail kindly greet these childless mothers.
955
Most dreary is my life, and like some wandering cloud I drift before the howling blast.
960
No more a happy mother I, with children blest; no more I share, among Argive women, who have sons, their happy lot; nor any more will Artemis in the hour of travail kindly greet these childless mothers.
955
Most dreary is my life, and like some wandering cloud I drift before the howling blast.
960
Chorus
The seven noblest sons in
Argos
once we had,
we seven hapless mothers; but now my sons are dead, I have no child, and on me steals old age in piteous wise, nor ’mongst the dead nor ’mongst the living do I count
1
myself,
965
having as it were a lot apart from these.
970
The seven noblest sons in
Argos
once we had,
we seven hapless mothers; but now my sons are dead, I have no child, and on me steals old age in piteous wise, nor ’mongst the dead nor ’mongst the living do I count
1
myself,
965
having as it were a lot apart from these.
970
Chorus
Tears alone are left me; in my house sad memories of my son are stored; mournful tresses shorn from his head, chaplets that he wore, libations for the dead departed,
and songs, but not such as golden-haired Apollo welcometh; and when I wake to weep, my tears will ever drench the folds of my robe upon my bosom.
975
Tears alone are left me; in my house sad memories of my son are stored; mournful tresses shorn from his head, chaplets that he wore, libations for the dead departed,
and songs, but not such as golden-haired Apollo welcometh; and when I wake to weep, my tears will ever drench the folds of my robe upon my bosom.
975
The Suppliant Maidens. Euripides. E. P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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