In the unnumbered death
of its people the city dies;
those children that are born lie dead on the naked earth
unpitied, spreading contagion of death; and gray-haired mothers and wives
everywhere stand at the altar’s edge, suppliant, moaning; the hymn to the healing God rings out but with it the wailing voices are blended.
From these our sufferings grant us, O golden Daughter of Zeus, glad-faced deliverance. 203-210
The reason I picked this passage here is, it represents the hurtful tragedy’s these new born babies have to grow up into with the repetition of the word death. The chorus letting us know how people are pleading out to Golden Daughter of Zeus for the help and trying to understand why nothing is being done. I could only image how all these people feel on how that, the person they look upon, can’t grant them a promise to something better that they need.
