...lry for the dead, casting from my hair its mantle and letting my delicate saffron robe fly loose, a tearful escort to the dead. Ah me! Oh, Polyneices! you were rightly named, after all; woe to you, Thebes ! Your strife—not strife, but murder on murder— has brought the house of Oedipus to ruin with dire and grim bloodshed. What harmonious or tuneful wailing can I summon, for my tears, my...