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Chorus
Even so I, indulging my grief in Ionian strains, [70] pain my tender face summered by Nile's sun and my heart unexercised in tears; and I gather the flowers of grief, anxious whether there is any friendly kinsman here to champion our band [75] which has fled from the haze-shrouded land.
Aeschylus. Aeschylus, with an English translation by Herbert Weir Smyth, Ph. D. in two volumes. 2. Suppliant Women. Herbert Weir Smyth, Ph. D. Cambridge, MA. Harvard University Press. 1926.
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