Heracles
Euripides
Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. II. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1891.
- I could tell of the murder done by Procne, mother of an only child, offered to the Muses; but you had three children, wretched parent, and all of them have you in your frenzy slain.
- Alas! What groans or wails, what funeral dirge, or dance of death am I to raise?
- Ah, ah! see, the bolted doors
- of the lofty palace are being rolled apart.
- Ah me! see the wretched children lying before their unhappy father, who is sunk in dreadful slumber after shedding their blood.
- Round him are bonds and cords, made fast with many knots about the body of Heracles, and lashed to the stone columns of his house.
- But he, the aged father, like mother-bird wailing
- her unfledged brood, comes hastening here with halting steps on his bitter journey.
- Softly, softly! you aged sons of Thebes, let him sleep on and forget his sorrows.
- For you, old friend, I weep and mourn, for the children too and that victorious chief.
- Stand further off, make no noise nor outcry, do not rouse him from his calm
- deep slumber.
- O horrible! all this blood—
- Hush, hush! you will be my ruin.
- That he has spilled is rising up against him.
- Gently raise your dirge of woe, old friends;
- or he will wake, and, bursting his bonds, destroy the city, rend his father, and dash his house to pieces.
- I cannot, cannot—
- Hush! let me note his breathing;
- come, let me put my ear close.