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My child! oh, foreign women! Alas for me, for your death! Your father escapes, surrendering you to Hades. Iphigenia
Alas for me, mother! for the same  lament has fallen to both of us in our fortune. No more for me the light of day! no more these beams of the sun! Oh, oh! that snow-beat glen in Phrygia and the hills of Ida,  where Priam once exposed a tender baby, torn from his mother's arms to meet a deadly doom, Paris, called the child of Ida  in the Phrygians' town. Would that he never had settled Alexander, the herdsman reared among the herds, beside that water crystal-clear, where are fountains  of the Nymphs and their meadow rich with blooming flowers, where hyacinths and rose-buds blow for goddesses to gather! Here one day  came Pallas and Cypris of the subtle heart, Hera too and Hermes messenger of Zeus; Cypris, proud of the longing she causes,  Pallas of her prowess; and Hera of her royal marriage with king Zeus; to decide a hateful strife about their beauty; but it is my death,  maidens, bringing, it is true, glory to the Danaids, that Artemis has received as an offering, before they begin the voyage to Ilium.
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