Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1894) v1.djvu/49

Rh

Woe for my lot!—to the tomb hath my mother descended, descended!

Never again, O my father, she seeth the light of the sun!

In anguish she leaves us forsaken: the story is ended, is ended,

Of her sheltering love, and the tale of the motherless life is begun.

Look—look on her eyelids, her hands drooping nerveless! O hear me, O hear me!

It is I—I beseech thee, my mother!—thine own little, own little bird!

It is I—O, I cast me upon thee—thy lips are so near me, so near me,

Unto mine am I pressing them, mother!—I plead for a word—but a word!

With her who heareth not, nor seeth: ye

And I are stricken with a heavy doom.

And I am but a little one, father—so young, and forsaken, forsaken,

Forlorn of my mother—O hapless! a weariful lot shall be mine!

And thou, little maiden, my sister, the burden hast taken, hast taken,

Which thy brother may bear not alone, and a weariful lot shall be thine.