Chorus
STRO. 1.
ANTIS. 1.
TECMESSA, EURYSACES, CHORUS.
1185
When will the last revolving year
1185
Of all this numerous train
1185
Slow wandering in its course appear
'Midst ills I here sustain ?..
Toils rise on toils, and woes on woes,
The wasteful war around us glows,
And misery haunts this place.
The hateful walls of Troy around,,
1190
Unhappy Greece, what hast thou found,
1190
But ruin and disgrace?...
1192
Oh had he first been swept away
Through air by wild winds tost;
Or sunk from heav'n's ethereal ray,
To Pluto's dreary coast;
Who train'd the Grecians to the field,
1195
Taught them the sword, the spear to wield,
1195
And steel'd the gentle mind !
Hence toil gives birth to toil again,
Hence carnage stains th' ensanguin'd plain,
For he destroy'd mankind.
1199
Nor the brow with chaplets bound
Breathing balmy odours round,
1200
Nor the social glow of soul
1200
Kindling o'er the generous bowl,
Nor the dulcet strain that rings
Jocond from the sounding strings,
Nor endearing love's delight
That with rapture fills the night,
Me will he permit to prove;
1205
He, alas! hath murder'd love.
1205
But neglected here I lie
Open to th' inclement sky;
And my rough and matted hair
Drinks the dews of night's moist air,
Memorials sad of Troy!
1210
1211
Yet, till now, when pale affright
Roll'd her hideous form through night,
Great in arms, his shield t' oppose,
Ajax as my rampire rose,
And my terror was no more.
Now the hero I deplore
To the gloomy god consign'd;
1215
Now what joy can touch my mind?
Oh that on the pine-clad brow
Dark'ning o'er the sea below,
Where the cliffs of Sunium rise,
Rocky bulwarks, to the skies,
I were placed; with sweet address
Sacred Athens would I bless,
And feel a social joy!
Ajax. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.