Parodos
[Choral]
Oh, as I begin the great lament of my great distress,
Helen
what mourning shall I strive to utter? or what Muse shall I approach with tears or songs of death or woe? Alas!
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[Choral 1]
Winged maidens, virgin daughters of Earth, the Sirens, may you come to my mourning
Helen
with Libyan flute or pipe or lyre, tears to match my plaintive woes; grief for grief and mournful chant for chant, may Persephone send choirs of death
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in harmony with my lamentation, so that she may receive as thanks from me, in addition to my tears, a paean for the departed dead beneath her gloomy roof.
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Chorus
Beside the deep-blue water
and on the tangled grass, I happened to be drying purple robes in the sun’s golden blaze near the young reed shoots; from my mistress, from where she cried aloud her misery,
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I heard a sound, a mournful song not fit for the lyre, because she was then shrieking, lamenting with her wails; just as a Naiad nymph, who sends a song of woe ringing over the hills, cries out, under the rocky hollows, with screams
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[Choral 2]
Oh! Oh! Maidens of Hellas, the prey of barbarian sailors! An Achaean sailor
Helen
came, he came bringing tears upon tears to me. Ilion has been destroyed and is left to the enemy’s fire through me, the death-giver, through my name, full of suffering.
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Leda sought death by hanging, in anguish over my disgrace. My husband, after much wandering in the sea, has died and is gone;
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and Castor and his brother, twin glory of their native land, have vanished, vanished, leaving the plains that shook to their galloping horses,
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and the schools of reed-fringed Eurotas, scene of youthful labors.
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Chorus
Alas, alas! for your mournful fate and destiny, lady! You were fated, fated to have a life full of pain, when Zeus begot you on your mother,
shining through the air on the wings of a snow-white swan. What evil is not yours? What life have you not endured? Your mother is dead;
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the twin beloved sons of Zeus do not enjoy happiness; and you do not see your fatherland, while through the cities a rumor goes, mistress, which hands you over
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to the bed of a barbarian; your husband has lost his life in the salty waves, and never again will you bring glee to your father’s halls and Athene of the Bronze House.
225
[Choral]
Ah! Who was it, either from Phrygia
Helen
or from Hellas, who cut the pine that brought tears to Ilion? From this wood the son of Priam built his deadly ship, and sailed by barbarian oars
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to my home, to that most ill-fated beauty, to win me as his wife; and with him sailed deceitful and murderous Kypris, bearing death for the Danaans.
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Oh, unhappy in my misfortune! But Hera, the holy beloved of Zeus on her golden throne, sent the swift-footed son of Maia. I was gathering fresh rose leaves in the folds of my robe,
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so that I might go to the goddess of the Bronze House; he carried me off through the air to this luckless land, and made me an object of miserable strife, of strife between Hellas and the sons of Priam. And my name
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beside the streams of Simois bears a false rumor.
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