τί τόνδε παῖδα κτείνετ ̓ οὐδὲν αἴτιον;
ὦ Τυνδάρειον ἔρνος, οὔποτ ̓ εἶ Διός,
πολλῶν δὲ πατέρων φημί σ ̓ ἐκπεφυκέναι,
Αλάστορος μὲν πρῶτον, εἶτα δὲ Φθόνου,
Φόνου τε Θανάτου θ' ὅσα τε γῆ τρέφει κακά.
οὐ γάρ ποτ' αὐχῶ Ζηνά γ ̓ ἐκφῦσαί σ ̓ ἐγώ,
πολλοῖσι κῆρα βαρβάροις "Ελλησί τε.
ὅλοιο· καλλίστων γὰρ ὀμμάτων ἄπο
αἰσχρῶς τὰ κλεινὰ πεδί ̓ ἀπώλεσας Φρυγών.
ἀλλ ̓ ἄγετε φέρετε ῥίπτετ', εἰ ῥίπτειν δοκεῖ
δαίνυσθε τοῦδε σάρκας. ἔκ τε γὰρ θεῶν
διολλύμεσθα, παιδί τ ̓ οὐ δυναίμεθ ̓ ἂν
θάνατον ἀρῆξαι. κρύπτετ ̓ ἄθλιον δέμας
καὶ ῥίπτετ ̓ ἐς ναῦς· ἐπὶ καλὸν γὰρ ἔρχομαι
ὑμέναιον, ἀπολέσασα τοὐμαυτῆς τέκνον.

The Trojan Women 740-79.

Why will ye slay this innocent, that seeks
No wrong?... O Helen, Helen, thou ill tree
That Tyndareus planted, who shall deem of thee
As child of Zeus? O, thou hast drawn thy breath
From many fathers, Madness, Hate, red Death,
And every rotting poison of the sky!

Zeus knows thee not, thou vampire, draining dry
Greece and the world! God hate thee and destroy,
That with those beautiful eyes hast blasted Troy,
And made the far-famed plains a waste withal.
Quick! take him: drag him: cast him from the
wall,

If cast ye will! Tear him, ye beasts, be swift!
God hath undone me, and I cannot lift
One hand, one hand, to save my child from death...
O, hide my head for shame : fling me beneath
Your galley's benches! . . .

:

Quick I must begone To the bridal. . . . I have lost my child, my own!

Epitaph on the Athenian Dead at Plataea

E

ἰ τὸ καλῶς θνήσκειν ἀρετῆς μέρος ἐστὶ μέγιστον ἡμῖν ἐκ πάντων τοῦτ ̓ ἀπένειμε Τύχη

Ελλάδι γὰρ σπεύδοντες ἐλευθερίαν περιθεῖναι κείμεθ ̓ ἀγηράντῳ χρώμενοι εὐλογίῃ.

Epitaph on the Spartan Dead at Plataea Άσβεστον κλέος οἵδε φίλῃ περὶ πατρίδι θέντες

κυάνεον θανάτου ἀμφεβάλοντο νέφος

οὐ δὲ τεθνᾶσι θανόντες, ἐπεί σφ' ἀρετὴ καθύπερθεν κυδαίνουσ ̓ ἀνάγει δώματος ἐξ ̓Αίδεω.

IF

F the best merit be to lose life well,
To us beyond all else that fortune came :
In war, to give Greece liberty, we fell,
Heirs of all time's imperishable fame.

PLENDOUR unfading for their land they won, And then the shadowy robe of death put on. Yet died and are not dead; for their brave might Fames, and uplifts them from the realms of night.

The Dead Scholar

ἶπέ τις, Ἡράκλειτε, τεὸν μόρον, ἐς δέ

Εἶπέ

με δάκρυ ἤγαγεν, ἐμνήσθην δ' ὁσσάκις ἀμφότεροι ἥλιον ἐν λέσχῃ κατεδύσαμεν· ἀλλὰ σὺ μέν που,

ξεῖν Αλικαρνησεῦ, τετράπαλαι σποδιή. αἱ δὲ τεαὶ ζώουσιν ἀηδόνες, ἧσιν ὁ πάντων ἁρπακτὴρ Αΐδης οὐκ ἐπὶ χεῖρα βαλεῖ.