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312 Men of an alien race are coming yonder. And how, then, are they bringing him? In sorrow, as for some loved one, they move on their mournful, noiseless march.

Alas, he is brought in silence! What are we to think; that he is dead, or sleeping?

. Woe is me for thee, my father, woe is me for thee, wretched that I am! Whither shall I turn? What can I do ? Ah me!

(whispering). Hush, my son! Rouse not the cruel pain that infuriates thy sire! He lives, though prostrated. Oh, put a stern restraint upon thy lips!

. How sayest thou, old man—is he alive?

(whispering). Thou must not awake the slumberer! Thou must not rouse and revive the dread frenzy that visits him, my son!

. Nay, I am crushed with this weight of misery—there is madness in my heart!

O Zeus, to what land have I come? Who are these among whom I lie, tortured with unending agonies? Wretched, wretched that I am! Oh, that dire pest is gnawing me once more!

(to ). Knew I not how much better it was that thou shouldest keep silence, instead of scaring slumber from his brain and eyes?