ATOSSA
O Fate unblest! How many grievous ills
Upon me fall, yet most this sorrow stings,
That of my son's dishonour I must hear,
His royal limbs in tatter'd garb arrayed.
But I will go, and taking from my home
Costly attire, meet, if I may, my son.
For ne'er will we our dearest fail in woe.
Persians. Aeschylus. Anna Swanwick (Translator). London. 1886.
Sponsored by University of Leipzig.
Funding provided by European Social Fund Saxony.