the young their place, when they no more can benefit the world.
Cho. 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?
Chil. 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.
Cho. 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 Mycenæ?
Chil. 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.
Cho. 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?
Chil. Thy sons are dead and gone. Poor mother! dead and gone; the boundless air now wraps them round.
Cho. Turned to ashes by the flame, they have winged their flight to Hades.
Chil. Father, thou hearest thy children's lamentation; say, shall I e'er, as warrior dight, avenge thy slaughter?
Cho. God grant it, O my child!
Chil. Some day, if god so will, shall the avenging of my father be my task; not yet this sorrow sleeps.
Cho. Alas! Fortune's sorrows are enough for me, I have troubles and to spare already.
Chil. Shall Asopus' laughing tide ever reflect my brazen arms as I lead on my Argive troops?
