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.
Whether it was really Odysseus or not, I am afraid;
for Hector will blame us sentinels.
What can he allege?
He will suspect.
What have we done? Why are you afraid?
They got past us—
The ones who came this night to the Phrygian army.
Oh, oh! Cruel stroke of fate. Woe, woe!
Hush! be silent all, crouch low; for perhaps there comes someone into the snare.
Oh, oh! dire mishap to the Thracians.
It is one of the allies who is groaning.
Oh, oh! woe to me and to you, O king of Thrace, how cursed the sight of Troy to you!
what an end to your life!
Who are you? One of the allies? Night’s gloom has dulled these eyes and I cannot clearly recognize you.
Where can I find some Trojan chief? Where does Hector
take his rest under arms? To which of the captains of the army am I to tell my tale? What sufferings ours! what dark deeds someone has wrought on us and gone his way, when he had wound up a ball of sorrow manifest to every Thracian!
From what I gather of this man’s words, some calamity, it seems, is befalling the Thracian army.
Lost is all our army, our prince is dead, slain by a treacherous blow. Oh! Oh!
The cruel anguish of this bloody wound that racks my frame within! Would I were dead! Was it to die this inglorious death that Rhesus and I came bringing aid to Troy?