Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/91

487–526]

I, born of one the mightiest of the free

And wealthiest in the Phrygian land, am now

A captive. So Heaven willed, and thy strong arm

Determined. Therefore, since the hour that made

My being one with thine, I breathe for thee;

And I beseech thee by the sacred fire

Of home, and by the sweetness of the night

When from thy captive I became thy bride,

Leave me not guardless to the unworthy touch

And cruel taunting of thine enemies!

For, shouldst thou die and leave us, then shall I

Borne off by Argive violence with thy boy

Eat from that day the bread of slavery.

And some one of our lords shall smite me there

With galling speech: Behold the concubine

Of Aias, first of all the Greeks for might,

How envied once, worn with what service now!

So will they speak; and while my quailing heart

Shall sink beneath its burden, clouds of shame

Will dim thy glory and degrade thy race.

Oh! think but of thy father, left to pine

In doleful age, and let thy mother’s grief—

Who, long bowed down with many a careful year,

Prays oftentimes thou may’st return alive—

O’er-awe thee. Yea, and pity thine own son,

Unsheltered in his boyhood, lorn of thee,

With bitter foes to tend his orphanhood,

Think, O my lord, what sorrow in thy death

Thou send’st on him and me. For I have nought

To lean to but thy life. My fatherland

Thy spear hath ruined. Fate—not thou—hath sent

My sire and mother to the home of death.

What wealth have I to comfort me for thee?

What land of refuge? Thou art all my stay.

Oh, of me too take thought! Shall men have joy,

And not remember? Or shall kindness fade?

Say, can the mind be noble, where the stream

Of gratitude is withered from the spring?

. Aias, I would thy heart were touched like mine

With pity; then her words would win thy praise.