Bear himself proudly!Being by sword-destroying death amercedFor that sword’s punishment himself inflicted first. CHOROS.I at a loss am left —Of a feasible scheme of mind bereft —Where I may turn: for the house is falling:I fear the bloody crash of the rainThat ruins the roof as it bursts amain:The warning-dropHas come to a stop.Destiny doth Justice whetFor other deed of hurt, on other whetstones yet. Woe, earth, earth — would thou hadst taken meEre I saw the man I see,On the pallet-bedOf the silver-sided bath-vase, dead!Who is it shall bury him, whoSing his dirge? Can it be trueThat thou wilt dare this same to do —Having slain thy husband, thine own,To make his funeral moan:And for the soul of him, in placeOf his mighty deeds, a graceless graceTo wickedly institute? By whomShall the tale of praise o’er the tombAt the god-like man be sent —