Suppliants 1114–1164: The sons bring the ashes of the seven…

Chorus

1114— ἰὼ ἰώ·
τάδε δὴ παίδων καὶ δὴ φθιμένων
1115ὀστᾶ φέρεται. λάβετʼ, ἀμφίπολοι,
γραίας ἀμενοῦς — οὐ γὰρ ἔνεστιν
ῥώμη παίδων ὑπὸ πένθους —
πολλοῦ τε χρόνου ζώσης μέτρα δὴ
καταλειβομένης τʼ ἄλγεσι πολλοῖς.
1120τί γὰρ ἂν μεῖζον τοῦδʼ ἔτι θνητοῖς
πάθος ἐξεύροις
ἢ τέκνα θανόντʼ ἐσιδέσθαι;

Woe, woe! Behold your dead sons’ bones are brought hither; take them, servants of your weak old mistress, for in me is no strength left by reason of my mourning for my sons; time’s comrade long have I been, and many a tear for many a sorrow have I shed. For what sharper pang wilt thou ever find for mortals than the sight of children dead?

1123–1131

Παῖδες
1123— φέρω φέρω,
τάλαινα μᾶτερ, ἐκ πυρὸς πατρὸς μέλη,
1125βάρος μὲν οὐκ ἀβριθὲς ἀλγέων ὕπερ,
ἐν δʼ ὀλίγῳ τἀμὰ πάντα συνθείς.
Χορός
— ἰὼ ἰώ,
πᾶ φέρεις δάκρυα φίλᾳ
ματρὶ τῶν ὀλωλότων;
1130σποδοῦ τε πλῆθος ὀλίγον ἀντὶ σωμάτων
εὐδοκίμων δήποτʼ ἐν Μυκήναις;

Children Poor mother mine, behold I bring my father’s bones gathered from the fire, a burden grief has rendered heavy, though this tiny urn contains my all.

Chorus Ah me! ah me! Why bear thy tearful load to the fond mother of the dead, a handful of ashes in the stead of those who erst were men of mark in Mycenae?

1132–1138

Παῖδες
1132— ἄπαις, ἄπαις·
ἐγὼ δʼ ἔρημος ἀθλίου πατρὸς τάλας
ἔρημον οἶκον ὀρφανεύσομαι λαβών,
οὐ πατρὸς ἐν χερσὶ τοῦ τεκόντος.
Χορός
1135— ἰὼ ἰώ·
ποῦ δὲ πόνος ἐμῶν τέκνων,
ποῦ λοχευμάτων χάρις;
τροφαί τε ματρὸς ἄυπνά τʼ ὀμμάτων τέλη,
καὶ φίλιαι προσβολαὶ προσώπων;

Children Woe worth the hour! woe worth the day! Reft of my hapless sire, a wretched orphan shall I inherit a desolate house, torn from my father’s arms.

Chorus Woe is thee! Where is now the toil I spent upon my sons? what thank have I for nightly watch? Where the mother’s nursing care? the sleepless vigils mine eyes have kept? the loving kiss upon my children’s brow?

1139–1145

Παῖδες 1139— βεβᾶσιν, οὐκέτʼ εἰσίν· οἴμοι πάτερ· 1140βεβᾶσιν. Χορός αἰθὴρ ἔχει νιν ἤδη, πυρὸς τετακότας σποδῷ· ποτανοὶ δʼ ἤνυσαν τὸν Ἅιδαν. Παῖδες — πάτερ, μῶν σῶν κλύεις τέκνων γόους; ἆρʼ ἀσπιδοῦχος ἔτι ποτʼ ἀντιτάσσομαι 1145σὸν φόνον — εἰ γὰρ γένοιτο — τεκνῶν;

Children Thy sons are dead and gone. Poor mother! dead and gone; the boundless air now wraps them round.

Chorus Turned to ashes by the flame, they have winged their flight to Hades.

Children Father, thou hearest thy children’s lamentation; say, shall I e’er, as warrior dight, avenge thy slaughter?

Chorus God grant it, O my child!

1146–1152

Παῖδες 1146— ἔτʼ ἂν θεοῦ θέλοντος ἔλθοι δίκα πατρῷος· Χορός οὔπω κακὸν τόδʼ εὕδει. αἰαῖ γόων· ἅλις τύχας, ἅλις δʼ ἀλγέων ἐμοὶ πάρεστι. Παῖδες 1150— ἔτʼ Ἀσωποῦ με δέξεται γάνος χαλκέοις ἐν ὅπλοις Δαναϊδῶν στρατηλάταν, τοῦ φθιμένου πατρὸς ἐκδικαστάν.

Children Some day, if god so will, shall the avenging of my father be my task; not yet this sorrow sleeps.

Chorus Alas! Fortune’s sorrows are enough for me, I have troubles and to spare already.

Children Shall Asopus’ laughing tide ever reflect my brazen arms as I lead on my Argive troops?

Chorus To avenge thy fallen sire.

1153–1158

Παῖδες 1153— ἔτʼ εἰσορᾶν σε, πάτερ, ἐπʼ ὀμμάτων δοκῶ […] Χορός — φίλον φίλημα παρὰ γένυν τιθέντα σόν. Παῖδες 1155— λόγων δὲ παρακέλευσμα σῶν ἀέρι φερόμενον οἴχεται. Χορός — δυοῖν δʼ ἄχη, ματρί τʼ ἔλιπεν — σέ τʼ οὔποτʼ ἄλγη πατρῷα λείψει.

Children Methinks I see thee still before my eyes, my father—

Chorus Printing a loving kiss upon thy cheek.

Children But thy words of exhortation are borne on the winds away.

Chorus Two mourners hath he left behind, thy mother and thee, bequeathing to thee an endless legacy of grief for thy father.

1159–1164

Παῖδες 1159— ἔχω τοσόνδε βάρος ὅσον μʼ ἀπώλεσεν. Χορός 1160— φέρʼ, ἀμφὶ μαστὸν ὑποβάλω φίλαν σποδόν. Παῖδες — ἔκλαυσα τόδε κλύων ἔπος στυγνότατον· ἔθιγέ μου φρενῶν. Χορός — ὦ τέκνον, ἔβας· οὐκέτι φίλον φίλας ἄγαλμʼ ὄψομαί σε ματρός.

Children The weight of grief I have to bear hath crushed me utterly.

Chorus Come, let me clasp the ashes of my son to my bosom.

Children I weep to hear that piteous word; it stabs me to the heart.

Chorus My child, thou art undone; no more shall I behold thee, thy own fond mother’s treasure.

Euripides, Suppliants 1114–1164: Exodos: the sons bring the ashes of the seven chiefs

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