Page:Sophocles (Storr 1919) v2.djvu/189



Phanoteus, the Phocian,

On a grave mission.

Tell me, stranger, what.

It must be friendly coming from a friend.

Orestes’ death, to sum in brief my tale.

Me miserable! Now am I undone.

What say’st thou, man, what say’st thou? Heed not her.

I say again, Orestes is no more.

Ah me, I’m lost, ah wretched me, undone!

Attend to thine own business. (To .) Tell me. Sir,

The circumstance and manner of his death.

That was my errand, and I’ll tell thee all.

To the great festival of Greece he went,

The Delphic Games, and when the herald’s voice

Announced the opening trial, the foot race,

He stepped into the lists, a radiant form,

The admired of all beholders. Like a shaft

He sped from starting point to goal and back,

And bore the crown of glorious victory.

To speak in brief where there is much to tell,

I never heard of prowess like to his. 177