TEC
392
Pray thus, and pray that I too be no more!
If thou wert gone, what were my life to me?
Darkness! my only light!
O nether gloom, to me
Brighter than morning to the wakeful eye!
Take me to dwell with thee.
Take me! What help? Zeus’ daughter with fell might
Torments me sore. I may not look on high,
Nor to the tribe of momentary men.—
Oh, whither, then,
Should it avail to fly?
Ah! whither should I go and stay?
All here is ruin. This mad prey
Shames me for evermore:
Vengeance is at the door;
Yea, all the Achaean host, with armèd hand,
Is ready at command
To slay me o’er and o’er.
Ajax. Sophocles. Lewis Campbell (Translator). London, New York and Toronto. 1906.