Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1898) v3.djvu/131

Rh

Ah Nature, what a curse art thou to men—

What blessing to thy virtuous heritors!

Mark, of her hair she shore the tips alone,

Sparing its beauty—still the Helen of old!

God's hate be on thee, who hast ruined me,

My brother, and all Hellas! Woe is me!

Lo, hither come my friends who wail with me

My dirges! Soon shall they uprouse from sleep

Him who hath peace now, and shall drown mine eyes

In tears, when I behold my brother rave.

Enter Chorus.

Ah friends, dear friends, with soundless footfall tread;

Make ye no murmur, neither be there jar.

Kindly is this your friendship, yet to me,

If ye but rouse him, misery shall befall.

(Str. 1) Hush ye, O hush ye! light be the tread

Of the sandal; nor murmur nor jar let there be.

Afar step ye thitherward, far from his bed!

Lo, I hearken to thee.

Ha, be thy voice as the light breath blown

Through the pipe of the reed, O friend, I pray!