Chorus (cont.)
When first arose
The contest who those arms could claim
As guerdon for the first in warlike fame.
Tecmessa
Woe, woe is me!
Chorus
The anguish, well I know it,
Pierces to thy true heart.
Tecmessa
Woe, woe is me!
Chorus
No marvel thou shouldst wail and wail again
Bereft so lately and of one so loved.
Tecmessa
The woe I feel thou canst in part conceive.
Chorus
’Tis true.
Tecmessa
Alas, my child, to what hard yoke
Of bondage must we come, so merciless
The taskmasters set over thee and me!
Chorus
The Atridae, ruthless pair,
And their grim deeds ineffable
Thy boding soul prefigures. God avert it!
Tecmessa
Save by God’s will we were not in this case.