To ward his sons and foster, with their mother, 45
When down into the earth's black darkness passed
My son, that Herakles' children might not die—
Here at the altar sit of Saviour Zeus,
Which, in thanksgiving for the victory won
O'er Minyan foes, mine hero-scion reared. 50
And, lacking all things, raiment, meat, and drink,
Here keep we session, on the bare hard ground
Laying our limbs; for desperate of life
Here sit we, barred from homes whose doors are sealed.
And of friends some, I note, are insincere, 55
Some, friends in truth, are helpless for our aid:
Such evil is misfortune unto men.
Never light this on one that loveth me,
Though ne'er so little—friendship's sternest test!
Megara.
Ancient, who once didst smite the Taphians' burg, 60
Captaining gloriously the Theban spears,
How are God's ways with men past finding out!
For never fell my fortunes in my sire,
Who for his wealth was once accounted great,
Secure in kingship—that, for lust whereof 65
Long lances leap against men fortune-throned:
Children had he; me to thy son he gave,
In glorious spousal joined with Herakles.
Now is all dead—as upon wings hath flown:
And, ancient, thou and I are marked for death, 70
With Herakles' children, whom, as 'neath her wings
A bird her fledglings gathereth, so I keep.
And this and that one falls to questioning still—
"Mother, in what land stays our father?—tell.
What doth he? When comes?" In child-ignorance 75
