Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/128

100 I sailed,—as heaven-frenzied I did sail,—

I have seen not: now left lorn I wail our lot.

Helen, why tell thee what thyself mayst see—

The piteous plight of Agamemnon's son?

Sleepless I sit beside a wretched corpse;

For, but for faintest breath, a corpse he is.

His evils—I reproach him not with them.

But prosperous thou art come, and prosperous comes

Thy lord, to us the misery-stricken ones.

How long hath he so lain upon his couch?

Even since he spilt the blood of her that bare him.

Ah wretch!—ah mother, what a death she died!

Such is his plight that he is crushed of ills.

In heaven's name, maiden, do to me a grace.

So far as this my tendance suffereth me.

Wilt go for me unto my sister's tomb?