Page:Sophocles (Storr 1919) v2.djvu/149



Ah, noble friends ye come, I see

To ease my misery;

Your kind intent, O trust me, I perceive.

Yet can I never leave

My task, each day, each hour, anew to shed

Tears o’er my father dead.

O kindly hearts, so ready to repay

All friendship owes,

Leave me, O leave me (this one boon I pray)

To my wild woes.

Yet him, thy sire, from Acheron’s dark shore

By prayers or cries thou never can’st restore,

No, never more;

And by excess of grief thou perishest.

If remedy be none, were it not best

From grief to rest?

O rest thee! why

Thus nurse thy fruitless misery?

That child’s insensate who remembers not

His sire’s sad lot.

O bird of Zeus, to thine I’ll set my note,

Who with full throat

For Itys, Itys griev’st from eve till morn.

Ah! Niobe forlorn,

How blest art thou who tombed in stone dost lie

And weep for aye!

Not thou alone, hast sorrow; others share

Thy load of care. 137