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Behold! the grief I bewailed
like a clear-toned nightingale, nears us.
These men who approach us are strangers.
How do they bring him? They move,
sorrowing as for a friend,
slowly, with noiseless tread.
Ah ah! he is carried in silence!
What must we think? Is he dead
970or is he only sleeping?
The Women of Trachis and Philoctetes. A new translation in verse by Robert Torrance. Houghton Mifflin. 1966.
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