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O my great master! heaviest of all woe
485
Is theirs whose life is crushed beyond recall.
485
I, born of one the mightiest of the free
485
And wealthiest in the Phrygian land, am now
485
A captive. So Heaven willed, and thy strong arm
485
Determined. Therefore, since the hour that made
My being one with thine, I breathe for thee;
And I beseech thee by the sacred fire
Of home, and by the sweetness of the night
When from thy captive I became thy bride,
Leave me not guardless to the unworthy touch
And cruel taunting of thine enemies’
For, shouldst thou die and leave us, then shall I
Borne off by Argive violence with thy boy
Eat from that day the bread of slavery.
And some one of our lords shall smite me there
With galling speech: Behold the concubine
Of Aias, first of all the Greeks for might,
How envied once, worn with what service now!
So will they speak; and while my quailing heart
Shall sink beneath its burden, clouds of shame
Will dim thy glory and degrade thy race.
Oh! think but of thy father, left to pine
In doleful age, and let thy mother’s grief—
Who, long bowed down with many a careful year,
Prays oftentimes thou may’st return alive—
490
O’er awe thee. Yea, and pity thine own son,
490
Unsheltered in his boyhood, lorn of thee,
490
With bitter foes to tend his orphanhood,
490
Think, O my lord, what sorrow in thy death
490
Thou send’st on him and me. For I have nought
To lean to but thy life. My fatherland
Thy spear hath ruined. Fate—not thou—hath sent
My sire and mother to the home of death
What wealth have I to comfort me for thee?
What land of refuge? Thou art all my stay
Oh, of me too take thought! Shall men have joy,
And not remember? Or shall kindness fade?
Say, can the mind be noble, where the stream
Of gratitude is withered from the spring?
O my great master! heaviest of all woe
485
Is theirs whose life is crushed beyond recall.
485
I, born of one the mightiest of the free
485
And wealthiest in the Phrygian land, am now
485
A captive. So Heaven willed, and thy strong arm
485
Determined. Therefore, since the hour that made
My being one with thine, I breathe for thee;
And I beseech thee by the sacred fire
Of home, and by the sweetness of the night
When from thy captive I became thy bride,
Leave me not guardless to the unworthy touch
And cruel taunting of thine enemies’
For, shouldst thou die and leave us, then shall I
Borne off by Argive violence with thy boy
Eat from that day the bread of slavery.
And some one of our lords shall smite me there
With galling speech: Behold the concubine
Of Aias, first of all the Greeks for might,
How envied once, worn with what service now!
So will they speak; and while my quailing heart
Shall sink beneath its burden, clouds of shame
Will dim thy glory and degrade thy race.
Oh! think but of thy father, left to pine
In doleful age, and let thy mother’s grief—
Who, long bowed down with many a careful year,
Prays oftentimes thou may’st return alive—
490
O’er awe thee. Yea, and pity thine own son,
490
Unsheltered in his boyhood, lorn of thee,
490
With bitter foes to tend his orphanhood,
490
Think, O my lord, what sorrow in thy death
490
Thou send’st on him and me. For I have nought
To lean to but thy life. My fatherland
Thy spear hath ruined. Fate—not thou—hath sent
My sire and mother to the home of death
What wealth have I to comfort me for thee?
What land of refuge? Thou art all my stay
Oh, of me too take thought! Shall men have joy,
And not remember? Or shall kindness fade?
Say, can the mind be noble, where the stream
Of gratitude is withered from the spring?
Ajax. Sophocles. Lewis Campbell (Translator). London, New York and Toronto. 1906.