So, voiceless, on him they attend:
Ah, shall I deem him as dead?
Or may I hope that he lies,
Deep sleep closing his eyes?
Hyllos.
Ah, woe is me for thee, my father dear!
Woe, woe, for all my misery and fear!
What sorrow cometh next?
What counsel can I find for soul perplexed?
Elder.
Hush, boy, hush! lest thou stir
Thy sore vexed father's anguish dark and drear;
He lives, in sleep laid low;
Curb thou thy lips, no murmur let him hear.
Hyllos.
What say'st thou? Lives he still?
Elder.
Thou wilt not rouse him now he slumbers sound.
My child, nor stir his ill,
Nor bid it run its fierce, relentless round.
Hyllos.
And yet my mind is vexed,
Brooding o'er sorrow, shaken and perplexed.
Heracles.
Ο Zeus!
What spot of earth is this?
Among what men am I?
By pain that will not cease,
