Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/249

Rh Not any whit less wretched than art thou,

And brides of noblest bridegrooms left forlorn,

Whose corpses yonder dust of Ida shrouds.

Endure this: we, if err we do to honour

The brave, content will stand convict of folly.

But ye barbarians, neither count as friends

Your friends, nor render your heroic dead

Homage, that Hellas so may prosperous rise,

And your reward may match your policy.

Woe! What a curse is thraldom's nature, aye

Enduring wrong by strong constraint o'erborne!

My daughter, wasted are my words in air,

Flung vainly forth my pleadings for thy life.

If thou canst aught prevail beyond thy mother,

Be instant; as with nightingale's sad throat

Moan, moan, that thou be not bereft of life.

Fall piteously at this Odysseus' knee:

Melt him. A plea thou hast—he too hath babes;

Well may he so compassionate thy lot.

I see, Odysseus, how thou hid'st thine hand

Beneath thy vesture, how thou turn'st away

Thy face, lest I should touch thy beard. Fear not:

From Zeus safe art thou, from the Suppliant's Champion.

I will go with thee, both for that I must,

And that I long to die. And, were I loth,

A coward girl life-craving were I proved.

For, wherefore should I live, whose sire was king

Of all the Phrygians? Such was my life's dawn: