Chorus
Younger gods, you have ridden down the ancient laws and have taken them from my hands!
And I—dishonored, unhappy, deeply angry—on this land, alas, I will release venom from my heart, venom in return for my grief, drops that the land cannot endure. From it a blight
810
that destroys leaves, destroys children—a just return—speeding over the plain, will cast infection on the land to ruin mortals. I groan aloud. What shall I do? I am mocked by the people.
815
What I have suffered is unbearable. Ah, cruel indeed are the wrongs of the daughters of Night, mourning over dishonor!
820
Eumenides. Aeschylus. Herbert Weir Smyth (Translator). New York. 1926.
Sponsored by Perseus Project, Tufts University.
Funding provided by The Annenberg CPB/Project.