Ο woe, woe, woe!
Ο home most full of grief,
My grief, me miserable!
What now shall come to me
As day succeeds to day?
Whence shall I, in my woe,
Find hope of food to live?1090
Ah, now the swift-winged birds
*Will soar in loftiest flight,
*High through the whistling wind;
For I am powerless.
Chor. Thou, thou thyself, Ο man of many woes,
Hast brought them on thyself;
It is not from a Power above thine own
This ill fate falls on thee,
Since thou, when wisdom was at hand, didst choose,
Thy better genius scorned, to praise the worse.1100
Antistroph. I.
Phil. O miserable me!
Outraged with foulest wrong,
Who for the years to come
In woe, no helper near,
Shall henceforth, dwelling here, consume away,
(Ah me! ah me!)
Gaining no food for life
From those my swift-winged darts,
With firm hands grasping them;1110
But unsuspected words
Of guileful mind deceived;
Would I might see the man
Whose heart devised these things,
Bearing these pains of mine
As long as I have borne!
Chor. Fate was it, fate that cometh of the Gods,
