Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Jebb 1917).djvu/260

248 the sad dust of that mighty form, to find due burial in his fatherland.

Such is my story,—grievous to hear, if words can grieve; but for us, who beheld, the greatest of sorrows that these eyes have seen.

. Alas, alas! Now, methinks, the stock of our ancient masters hath utterly perished, root and branch.

. O Zeus, what shall I call these tidings,—glad tidings? Or dire, but gainful? 'Tis a bitter lot, when mine own calamities make the safety of my life.

. Why art thou so downcast, lady, at this news?

. There is a strange power in motherhood; a mother may be wronged, but she never learns to hate her child.

. Then it seems that we have come in vain.

. Nay, not in vain; how canst thou say 'in vain,' when thou hast brought me sure proofs of his death?—His, who sprang from mine own life, yet, forsaking me who had suckled and reared him, became an exile and an alien; and, after he went out of this land, he saw me no more; but, charging me with the murder of his sire, he uttered dread threats against me; so that neither by night nor by day could sweet sleep cover mine eyes, but from moment to moment I lived in fear of death. Now, however—since this day I am rid of terror from him, and from this girl,—that worse plague who shared my home, while still she drained my very lifeblood,—now, methinks, for aught that she can threaten, I shall pass my days in peace.

. Ah, woe is me! Now, indeed, Orestes, thy