Philoctetes
O birds of the air, O bright-eyed tribes
of wandering beasts who inhabit
this rocky, mountainous pasture-land:
no longer need you flee from your lairs,
1150for I will never hold in my hands
the arrows which used to protect me.
Oh how miserable am I now!
Roam wherever you wish: the land
no longer is dangerous for you;
1155now it is only just that you
should take my blood in return for yours
and sate yourselves on my yellowed flesh.
Soon I shall leave this life of mine.
How can I find myself a living?
1160How can a man with none of the gifts
the nourishing earth supplies to others
feed himself on the winds of the air?
chorus
In God's name, if you respect a friendly stranger,
come to me as I come to you.
1165Pray consider, consider well
how you may flee from this plague.
It eats without remorse, and no one
ever could learn to endure such pain.