Helen

Euripides

Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. I. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1906.

  1. wandering toil, searching for the treacherous rape of her daughter, she crossed the snow-capped heights of the nymphs of Mount Ida;
  2. and in sorrow cast herself down in the rocky woods deep in snow; and, by not making fruitful with crops the barren fields of the earth for mortals, she destroyed the human race.
  3. She would not send forth the rich nourishment of leafy tendrils for the herds, and life was leaving the cities. No sacrifice was offered to the gods, and on the altars were no cakes to burn;
  4. she made the dew-fed springs of clear water cease flowing, the avenger in sorrow for her child.
Chorus
  1. When she made an end to banquets for gods and the race of men, Zeus spoke out, appeasing the
  2. Mother’s gloomy wrath: Go, holy Graces, go and with a loud cry take from Demeter’s angry heart her grief for the maiden;
  3. and you, Muses, with song and dance. Then Kypris, fairest of the blessed gods, first took up the rumbling voice of bronze and the drum with tight-stretched skin; and the goddess smiled,
  4. and received in her hand the deep-toned flute, pleased with its loud note.
Chorus
  1. You made burnt offerings that were neither right nor holy, in the chambers of the gods,
  2. and you have incurred the wrath of the great mother, child, by not honoring her sacrifices. Oh! Great is the power of dappled fawn-skin robes,
  3. and green ivy that crowns a sacred thyrsos, the whirling beat of the tambourine circling in the air, hair streaming wildly for the revelry of Bromios,
  4. and the night-long festivals of the goddess. . . . You gloried in your beauty alone.
Helen
  1. My friends, all goes well for us inside;
  2. for the daughter of Proteus, who aids us in our theft, has told her brother nothing when questioned as to my husband’s coming; for my sake she said that he was not alive, but dead and buried. . . . My husband has snatched up by chance fine things indeed;
  3. for he is carrying away the armor he was intending to let fall into the sea, putting his noble arm through the shield-strap and holding a spear in his right hand, on pretence of joining in the service to the dead. He has equipped his body with weapons conveniently for the battle,