The Complete Plays of Sophocles (The Seven Plays in English Verse) by Sophocles & Lewis Campbell
Author:Sophocles & Lewis Campbell
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781420933154
Publisher: Digireads.com
Published: 2009-01-02T00:00:00+00:00
EL. Think you the wretch in heartfelt agony
Weeps inconsolably her perished son?
She left us with a laugh! O misery!
How thou hast ruined me, dear brother mine,
By dying! Thou hast torn from out my heart
The only hope I cherished yet, that thou
Living wouldst come hereafter to avenge
Thy father’s woes and mine. Where must I go?
Since I am left of thee and of my sire
Bereaved and lonely, and once more must be
The drudge and menial of my bitterest foes,
My father’s murderers. Say, is it well?
Nay, nevermore will I consort with these,
But sinking here before the palace gate,
Thus, friendless, I will wither out my life.
Hereat if any in the house be vexed,
Let them destroy me; for to take my life
Were kindness, and to live is only pain:
Life hath not kindled my desires with joy.
CH. 1. O ever-blazing sun!I 1
O lightning of the eternal Sire!
Can ye behold this done
And tamely hide your all-avenging fire?
EL. Ah me!
CH. 2. My daughter, why these tears?
EL. Woe!
CH. 3. Weep not, calm thy fears.
EL. You kill me.
CH. 4. How?
EL. To breathe
A hope for one beneath
So clearly sunk in death,
’Tis to afflict me more
Already pining sore.
[page 154] CH. 5. One in a woman’s toilsI 2 [837-870]
Was tangled, buried by her glittering coils,
Who now beneath—
EL. Ah woe!
CH. 6. Rules with a spirit unimpaired and strong.
EL. O dreadful!
CH. 7. Dreadful was the wrong.
EL. But she was quelled.
CH. 8. Ay.
EL. True!
That faithful mourner knew
A brother’s aid. But I
Have no man now. The one
I had, is gone, is gone.
Rapt into nothingness.
CH. 9. Thou art wrung with sore distress.II 1
EL. I know it. Too well I know,
Taught by a life of woe,
Where horror dwells without relief.
CH. 10. Our eyes have seen thy grief.
EL. Then comfort not again—
CH. 11. Whither now turns thy strain?
EL. One utterly bereft,
Seeing no hope is left,
Of help from hands owning the same great sire.
CH. 12. ’Tis nature’s debt.II 2
EL. To expire
On sharp-cut dragging thongs,
’Midst wildly trampling throngs
Of swiftly racing hoofs, like him,
Poor hapless one?
CH. 13. Vast, dim,
And boundless was the harm.
EL. Yea, severed from mine arm,
By strangers kept—
CH. 14. O pain!
EL. Hidden he must remain,
Of me unsepulchred, unmourned, unwept.
[page 155][871-906]
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