Though not as piety enjoins, yet from sheer necessity I have come
to the fire-crowned altars of the gods, falling on my knees with instant
supplication, for my cause is just, and 'tis in thy power, blest as
thou art in thy children, to remove from me my woe; so in my sore
distress I do beseech thee of my misery place in my hands my son's
dead body, that I may throw my arms about his hapless limbs. (The
attendants of the goddess take up the lament., strophe 3)
Behold a rivalry in sorrow! woe takes up the tale of woe; hark! thy
servants beat their breasts. Come ye who join the mourners' wail,
come, O sympathetic band, to join the dance, which Hades honours;
let the pearly nail be stained red, as it rends your cheeks, let your
skin be streaked with gore; for honours rendered to the dead are credit
to the living.
(antistrophe 3)
Sorrow's charm doth drive me wild, insatiate, painful, endless, even
as the trickling stream that gushes from some steep rock's face; for
'tis woman's way to fall a-weeping o'er the cruel calamity of children
dead. Ah me! would I could die and forget my anguish (Theseus and
his retinue enter.)