Semi-Chorus 1: (chanting) Neither has he been found along the path
That leads from the eastern glances of the sun.
Chorus: (singing, strophe)
From whom, oh from whom? what hard son of the waves,
Plying his weary task without thought of sleep,
Or what Olympian nymph of hill or stream that flows
Down to the Bosporus' shore,
Might I have tidings of my lord
Wandering somewhere seen
Fierce of mood? Grievous it is
When I have toiled so long, and ranged far and wide
Thus to fail, thus to have sought in vain.
Still the afflicted hero nowhere may I find. (Tecmessa enters and
discovers the body.)
Tecmessa: Alas, woe, woe!
Chorus: (chanting) Whose cry was it that broke from yonder copse?
Tecmessa: Alas, woe is me!
Leader of the Chorus: It is the hapless spear-won bride I see,
Tecmessa, steeped in that wail's agony.
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