Euripides' RHESUS Complete

Translated by E. Coleridge.

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Chorus: I, too, bewail and mourn thy son, as far as one can who hath
no common tie of kin.

The Muse: Curses on the son of Oeneus! Curses on Laertes' child! who
hath reft me of my fair son and made me childless! and on that woman,
too, that left her home in Hellas, and sailed hither with her Phrygian
paramour, bringing death to thee, my dearest son, 'neath Ilium's walls,
and stripping countless cities of their heroes brave. Deep, deep the
wounds, son of Philammon, hast thou inflicted on my heart, in life,
nor less in Hades' halls. Yea, for 'twas thy pride, thy own undoing,
and thy rivalry with us Muses that made me mother of this poor son
of mine. For as I crossed the river's streams I came too nigh to Strymon's
fruitful couch, that day we Muses came unto the brow of Mount Pangaeus
with its soil of gold, with all our music furnished forth for one
great trial of minstrel skill with that clever Thracian bard, and
him we reft of sight, even Thamyris, the man who oft reviled our craft.
Anon, when I gave birth to thee, because I felt shame of my sisters
and my maiden years, I sent thee to the swirling stream of thy sire,
the water-god; and Strymon did not entrust thy nurture to mortal hands,
but to the fountain nymphs. There wert thou reared most fairly by
the maiden nymphs, and didst rule o'er Thrace, a leader amongst men,
my child. So long as thou didst range thy native land in quest of
bloody deeds of prowess I feared not for thy death, but I bade thee
ne'er set out for Troy-town, for well I knew thy doom; but Hector's
messages and those countless embassies urged thee to go and help thy
friends. This was thy doing, Athena; thou alone art to blame for his
death (neither Odysseus nor the son of Tydeus had aught to do with
it); think not it hath escaped mine eye. And yet we sister Muses do
special honour to thy city, thy land we chiefly haunt; yea, and Orpheus,
own cousin of the dead whom thou hast slain, did for thee unfold those
dark mysteries with their torch processions. Musaeus, too, thy holy
citizen, of all men most advanced in lore, him did Phoebus with us
sisters train. And here is my reward for this; dead in my arms I hold
my child and mourn for him. Henceforth no other learned man I'll bring
to thee.

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