The Suppliants (35-107)

these childless mothers, hoary with age, and from reverence for the sacred fillets. To call Theseus hither is my herald to the city gone, that he may rid the land of that which grieveth them, or loose these my suppliant bonds,

with pious observance of the gods’ will; for such as are discreet amongst women should in all cases invoke the aid of men.

What is this lamentation that I hear, this beating of the breast, these dirges for the dead, with cries that echo from this shrine? How fluttering fear disquiets me,

lest haply my mother have gotten some mischance, in quest of whom I come, for she hath been long absent from home. Ha! what now? A strange sight challenges my speech; I see my aged mother sitting at the altar and stranger dames are with her, who in various note

proclaim their woe; from aged eyes the piteous tear is starting to the ground, their hair is shorn, their robes are not the robes of joy.

What means it, mother? ’Tis thine to make it plain to me, mine to listen; yea, for I expect some tidings strange.

My son, these are the mothers of those chieftains seven, who fell around the gates of Cadmus’ town. With suppliant boughs they keep me prisoner, as thou seest, in their midst.

And who is yonder man, that moaneth piteously in the gateway?

Adrastus, they inform me, king of Argos.

Are those his children, those boys who stand round him?

Not his, but the sons of the fallen slain.