Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/202

Slain at Achilles' tomb, Polyxena
Thy child is dead, a gift to a lifeless corpse.

O wretched I!—The riddle this that erst 620
Talthybius spake, not clearly—oh, too clear!

Myself beheld: I lighted from this car,
Veiled with my robes the corse, and smote my breast.

Woe's me, my child, for thine unhallowed slaughter!
Woe yet again! How foully hast thou died! 625

She hath died—as she hath died: yet by a fate
More blest than mine, who yet live, hath she died.

Not one, my child, with sight of day is death;
For this is naught, in that is space for hope.

Mother, O mother, a fairer, truer word
Hear, that I may with solace touch thine heart:— 630
To have been unborn I count as one with death;
But better death than life in bitterness.
No pain feels death, which hath no sense of ills:
But who hath prospered, and hath fallen on woe,