AIAS (discovered alone). 
The sacrificer stands prepared,—­and when
More keen?  Let me take time for thinking, too! 
This gift of Hector, whom of stranger men
I hated most with heart and eyes, is set
In hostile Trojan soil, with grinding hone
Fresh-pointed, and here planted by my care
Thus firm, to give me swift and friendly death. 
Fine instrument, so much for thee!  Then, first,
Thou, for ’tis meet, great Father, lend thine aid. 
For no great gift I sue thee.  Let some voice
Bear Teucer the ill news, that none but he
May lift my body, newly fallen in death
About my bleeding sword, ere I be spied
By some of those who hate me, and be flung
To dogs and vultures for an outcast prey. 
So far I entreat thee, Lord of Heaven.  And thou,
Hermes, conductor of the shadowy dead,
Speed me to rest, and when with this sharp steel
I have cleft a sudden passage to my heart,
At one swift bound waft me to painless slumber! 
But most be ye my helpers, awful Powers,
Who know no blandishments, but still perceive
All wicked deeds i’ the world—­strong, swift, and sure,
Avenging Furies, understand my wrong,
See how my life is ruined, and by whom. 
Come, ravin on Achaean flesh—­spare none;
Rage through the camp!—­Last, thou that driv’st thy course
Up yon steep Heaven, thou Sun, when thou behold’st
My fatherland, checking thy golden rein,
Report my fall, and this my fatal end,
To my old sire, and the poor soul who tends him. 
Ah, hapless one! when she shall hear this word,
How she will make the city ring with woe! 
  ’Twere from the business idly to condole. 
To work, then, and dispatch.  O Death!  O Death! 
Now come, and welcome!  Yet with thee, hereafter,
I shall find close communion where I go. 
But unto thee, fresh beam of shining Day,
And thee, thou travelling Sun-god, I may speak
Now, and no more for ever.  O fair light! 
O sacred fields of Salamis my home! 
Thou, firm set natal hearth:  Athens renowned,
And ye her people whom I love; O rivers,
Brooks, fountains here—­yea, even the Trojan plain
I now invoke!—­kind fosterers, farewell! 
This one last word from Aias peals to you: 
Henceforth my speech will be with souls unseen. [Falls on his sword

CHORUS (re-entering severally).

CH.  A. Toil upon toil brings toil,
        And what save trouble have I? 
        Which path have I not tried? 
        And never a place arrests me with its tale. 
        Hark! lo, again a sound!

CH.  B.  ’Tis we, the comrades of your good ship’s crew.

CH.  A. Well, sirs?

CH.  B. We have trodden all the westward arm o’ the bay.

CH.  A. Well, have ye found?

CH.  B. Troubles enow, but nought to inform our sight.

CH.  A. Nor yet along the road that fronts the dawn
        Is any sign of Aias to be seen.