Tecmessa.
When this thou prayest, pray for my death too.
Why should I care for life when thou art dead?
Aias.
Stroph. III.
O dark that art my light!
Ο gloom that art to me supremely bright!
Oh, take me, I entreat,
Take me to dwell with you; I am not meet
To look to Heaven's high race
For any helping grace,
Nor yet to men whose brief days swiftly fleet.
But She, the mighty One,
Daughter of Zeus on high,
With shameful contumely,
My life to death hath done.
Where, where is room for flight?
Or whither roam and stay?
If evil day still follows evil night,
And we are hunting for a madman's prey,
Then should the whole host, hurling thrice strong spear,
Smite me and slay me here.
Tecmessa.
Ah misery! That one so brave and good
Should say the things he never dared before!
Aias.
Antistroph. III.
Ο ye paths of the waves!
Grove on the shore, and sea-encompassed caves!
Long time ye held me bound,
Imprisoned long, too long, on Troïa's ground,
