Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/417

Rh Ο Salamis, where stands my father's hearth,

Thou glorious Athens, with thy kindred race;

Ye streams and rivers here, and Troïa's plains,

To you that fed my life I bid farewell;

This last, last word does Aias speak to you;

All else I speak in Hades to the dead.

[Falls on his sword, and dies.

''Semi-Chor. A''. Toil upon toil brings toil;

Whither, ah, whither,

Whither have I not gone?

And no place knoweth to help.

Lo! lo! again I hear a sound of fall.

''Semi-Chor. B''. 'Tis but our mates, the sailors of our ship.

''Semi-Chor. A''. What say ye then?

''Semi-Chor. B''. The whole flank has been tracked

West of the ships.

''Semi-Chor. A''. And is there aught discerned?

''Semi-Chor. B''. Labour enough, but nothing more to see.

''Semi-Chor. A''. And yet upon the eastern region's path

Our chief is clearly nowhere to be found.

Chor. Who, then, will tell me, who

Of fishers loving toil,

Plying his sleepless task,

Or who of Nymphs divine,

That haunt Olympos' height,

Or which of all the streams

Where Bosporos flows fast,

Will tell if they have seen him anywhere,

Wandering, the vexed in soul?

Hard destiny is mine,