Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/418

320 Long tried with weary, toilsome wanderings,

That still I fail to reach with prosperous course,

Nor see where now he stays,

The man overwrought with ill.

Tec. Woe, woe is me!

Chor. What cry hard by is that from out the glade?

Tec. Oh, miserable me!

Chor. I see that captive bride, the spoil of war,

Tecmessa, crushed with this o'erwhelming grief.

Tec. I die, I perish; all is lost, my friends.

Chor. What, then, has happened?

Tec. Aias lieth here

Just slain, his sword within his body buried.

Chor. Woe, woe for my voyage home!

Woe, woe is me, thou hast slain,

Ο king, thy shipmate true;

Ah me, grievous my lot!

Grievous, Ο woman, thy woe!

Tec. Well may one groan and wail to find him thus.

Chor. But by whose hands did that ill-starred one die?

Tec. He, by his own hand, it is plain; for here

This sword, firm fixed, on which he fell, gives proof.

Chor. Woe, woe is me for my grief!

Alone thou wast bleeding to death,

None of thy friends near to guard;

And I, all deaf and all blind,

Left thee, neglected, to fall.

Where, ah ! where does he lie,

Aias, ill-fated, with ill name of woe?

Tec. Ye may not look on him, but I with robe

Enfolded round, will hide him utterly;