Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Jebb 1917).djvu/263

847—876] to avenge the mourning dead; but to me no champion remains; for he who yet was left hath been snatched away.

. Hapless art thou, and hapless is thy lot!

. Well know I that, too well,—I, whose life is a torrent of woes dread and dark, a torrent that surges through all the months!

. We have seen the course of thy sorrow.

. Cease, then, to divert me from it, when no more—

. How sayest thou?

. —when no more can I have the comfort of hope from a brother, the seed of the same noble sire.

. For all men it is appointed to die.

. What, to die as that ill-starred one died, amid the tramp of racing steeds, entangled in the reins that dragged him?

. Cruel was his doom, beyond thought!

. Yea, surely; when in foreign soil, without ministry of my hands—

. Alas!

. —he is buried, ungraced by me with sepulture or with tears.

. Joy wings my feet, dear sister, not careful of seemliness, if I come with speed; for I bring joyful news, to relieve thy long sufferings and sorrows.

. And whence couldst thou find help for my woes, whereof no cure can be imagined?