Kommos

Strophe I
AI. Dear comrades of the deep, whose truth and love
Stand forth alone unbroken in my woe,
Behold what gory sea
Of storm-lashed agony
Doth round and round me flow!

CH. (to TEC.) Too true thy witness: for the fact cries out
Wild thoughts were here and Reason's lamp extinct.

Antistrophe I
AI. Strong helpers of sea-speed, whose nimble hand
Plied hither the salt oar with circling stroke,
No shepherd there was found
To give the avenging wound.
Come, lay me with the flock!

CH. Speak no rash word! nor curing ill with ill
Augment the plague of this calamity.

Strophe II
AI. Mark ye the brave and bold,
Whom none could turn of old,
When once he set his face to the fierce fight?
Now beasts that thought no harm
Have felt this puissant arm.
O laughter of my foes! O mockery of my might!

TEC. Aias, my lord! I entreat thee, speak not so!

AI. Thou here! Away! begone, and trouble me not!
O! O!

CH. Be softened! bear a steadier mind!

AI. O heaven-accursèd hand
That let the ruffians go,
But falling 'midst the horn'd and bleating band,
Made darkling blood-streams flow!

CH. Why vex thy heart with what is over and done?
Do what we may, this ne'er will alter now.

Antistrophe II
AI. Child of Laërtes old,
Thou that dost still behold
And still contrive all shapes of monstrous ill,
Winding in foulest ways
Through the army's sinful maze,--
Now even for pleasure thou may'st laugh thy fill.

CH. Laughter and tears are in the gift of God.

AI. Ay, might I see him, though thus broken,--ay me!
Even yet--

CH. Nay, vaunt not. Look where thou art fallen.

AI. Source where my life-blood springs,
O Zeus, might I but slay
That crafty plague, with those twin-sceptred kings,
Then breathe my life away!

TEC. Pray thus, and pray that I too be no more!
If thou wert gone, what were my life to me?

Strophe III
AI. Darkness! my only light!
O nether gloom, to me
Brighter than morning to the wakeful eye!
Take me to dwell with thee.
Take me! What help? Zeus' daughter with fell might
Torments me sore. I may not look on high,
Nor to the tribe of momentary men.--
Oh, whither, then,
Should it avail to fly?
Ah! whither should I go and stay?
All here is ruin. This mad prey
Shames me for evermore:
Vengeance is at the door;
Yea, all the Achaean host, with armèd hand,
Is ready at command
To slay me o'er and o'er.

TEC. Woe 's me! to hear from one so good and true
Words he had scorned to utter in past days.

Antistrophe III
AI. Grey firths of foaming brine,
And ye, deep groves, that crown
The sea-caves and long cliffs upon the shore,
Too long did ye confine
My life about the walls of Troia's town:
But no more now! a breathing man, no more!
The wise in heart may duly learn that lore.
Let Xanthus know,
Whose waters neighbouring flow,
And minister to Argive men:
One man he ne'er shall see again;
One, I will vaunt it forth!
Highest in warlike worth
Of all Greek forms that Troia's towers have eyed:
Now, shorn of all that pride,
I lie thus low.