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Chorus
Alas, alas! What piteous dirge will you devise to mourn the outrage done you? No more through Ida's looms [200] shall I ply the shuttle to and fro. I look my last on my children's bodies, my last; I shall endure surpassing misery, it may be as the unwilling bride of some Hellene （perish the night and fortune that brings me to this!）; [205] it may be as a wretched slave from Peirene's sacred fount I shall draw their store of water. Oh! may it be ours to come to Theseus' famous realm, a land of joy. [210] Never, never let me see Eurotas' swirling tide, hateful home of Helen, there to meet and be the slave of Menelaus, whose hand laid Troy waste!
Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, translated by E. P. Coleridge. Volume I. London. George Bell and Sons. 1891.
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