Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/509

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I mourn for those my locks as young mare doth,

Who, caught by shepherds, in the stable stands,

And with rough hands has all her chestnut mane

Cropped off, and then is led in meadow fair,

Which clear streams water, and when thus she sees

Her likeness, with her hair thus foully cropped,

Ah, one hard-hearted well, might pity her,

Crouching in shame, as maddened with disgrace,

Mourning and weeping o'er the mane that's gone.

Ne'er can a state be well and safely ruled,

In which all justice and all purity

Are trampled under foot, and brawling knave

With cruel goad drives the poor state to death.

Not mortal men alone does Love assail,

No, nor yet women, but it leaves its stamp

Upon the souls of Gods, and passes on

To mighty ocean. Zeus omnipotent

Is powerless to avert it, and submits

And yields full willingly.

No greater evil can a man endure

Than a bad wife, nor find a greater good

Than one both good and wise; and each man speaks

As judging by the experience of his life.

Forgive me, and be silent, patiently;

For that which to us women bringeth shame

One ought in women's presence to conceal.

Would'st thou count up the roll of happy men,

Thou shalt not find one mortal truly blest.