And tell of things that drive me to despair:
For me is nought but pain.
Tecmessa.
Ο men, who came to aid
Our Aias, ye who trace your ancient birth
To old Erectheus, sprung from out the earth,
We who watch, half afraid,
Far from his home, o'er Telamon's dear son,
Have cause enough to wail;
Aias, the dread, strong, mighty to prevail,
Lies smitten low
By stormy blast of wild tempestuous woe.
Chorus.
What trouble burdensome,
In place of peace and rest,
Hath the night to us brought?
Ο thou from Phrygia come,
Child of Teleutas old,
Speak thou at our behest,
For Aias holds thee high in his esteem,
Prize of his prowess bold;
And thou would'st speak not ignorant, I deem.
Tecmessa.
Yet how can I speak aught
Of what with woe unspeakable is fraught?
Dreadful and dark the things that thou wilt hear;
For Aias in the night
Hath fallen in evil plight:
Yes he, the great, far-famed, sits raving there.
Such the dread sight would meet thy shrinking eyes
Within his tent,
