Stasimon 3
The way to bring the dead again.
But, did not an appointed Fate constrain
The Fate from gods, to bear no more than due,
My heart, outstripping what tongue utters,
Would have all out: which now, in darkness, mutters
1025
Moodily grieved, nor ever hopes to find
How she a word in season may unwind
From out the enkindling mind.
