Behold me,Trojans; for I, the Muse, one of the nine sisters, that have honor among the wise, I am here, having seen the piteous death his foes have dealt my darling son. Yet the crafty Odysseus, that slew him, one day hereafter shall pay a fitting penalty. Muse O my son, your mother’s grief, I mourn for you in my native strains of woe! What a journey you made to Troy , a very path of ill-fortune and sorrow! starting, in spite of all my warnings and your father’s earnest prayers, in defiance of us. Woe to me for you, my dear, dear son! Ah, woe! Chorus Leader As far as one can who has no common tie of kin,