Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Jebb 1917).djvu/217

901—936] hast slain me, the comrade of thy voyage! Hapless man,—broken-hearted woman!

. Even thus is it with him: 'tis ours to wail.

. By whose hand, then, can the wretched man have done the deed?

. By his own; 'tis well seen: this sword, which he planted in the ground, and on which he fell, convicts him.

. Alas for my blind folly, all alone, then, thou hast fallen in blood, unwatched of friends! And I took no heed, so dull was I, so witless! Where, where lies Ajax, that wayward one, of ill-boding name?

. No eye shall look on him; nay, in this enfolding robe I will shroud him wholly; for no man who loved him could bear to see him, as up to nostril and forth from red gash he spirts the darkened blood from the self-dealt wound. Ah me, what shall I do? What friend shall lift thee in his arms? Where is Teucer? How timely would be his arrival, might he but come, to compose the corpse of this his brother! Ah, hapless Ajax, from what height fallen how low! How worthy, even in the sight of foes, to be mourned!

. Thou wast fated, hapless one, thou wast fated, then, with that unbending soul, at last to work out an evil doom of woes untold! Such was the omen of those complainings which by night and by day I heard thee utter in thy fierce mood, bitter against the Atreidae with a deadly passion. Aye, that time was a potent source of sorrows, when the golden arms were made the prize in a contest of prowess!