ChorusWoe, woe! Behold your dead sons’ bones are brought hither; take them, servants of your weak old mistress, for in me is no strength left by reason of my mourning for my sons; time’s comrade long have I been, and many a tear for many a sorrow have I shed. For what sharper pang wilt thou ever find for mortals than the sight of children dead?
ChildrenPoor mother mine, behold I bring my father’s bones gathered from the fire, a burden grief has rendered heavy, though this tiny urn contains my all.ChorusAh me! ah me! Why bear thy tearful load to the fond mother of the dead, a handful of ashes in the stead of those who erst were men of mark in Mycenae?
ChildrenWoe worth the hour! woe worth the day! Reft of my hapless sire, a wretched orphan shall I inherit a desolate house, torn from my father’s arms.ChorusWoe is thee! Where is now the toil I spent upon my sons? what thank have I for nightly watch? Where the mother’s nursing care? the sleepless vigils mine eyes have kept? the loving kiss upon my children’s brow?
ChildrenThy sons are dead and gone. Poor mother! dead and gone; the boundless air now wraps them round.The second half of this line is assigned to the Chorus in the Greek.ChorusTurned to ashes by the flame, they have winged their flight to Hades.These lines are assigned to the Chorus in the Greek.ChildrenFather, thou hearest thy children’s lamentation; say, shall I e’er, as warrior dight, avenge thy slaughter?ChorusGod grant it, O my child!
ChildrenSome day, if god so will, shall the avenging of my father be my task; not yet this sorrow sleeps.