Fate is resistless: shall sorrow then
have no bounds? Other men have known what it is to lose a wife: and in
one or other of innumerable forms misery has found out every son of
mortality. {956}
_Admetus_ begins to speak of the life-long mourning for the lost--but
the thought is too much for him; why did they hold him back when he
would have cast himself into the gaping tomb, and gone the last journey
with his love? {963}
_The Chorus_ [_in Strophe_] think of one they knew who lost a son in
the flower of his age, an only son and well worthy of tears: yet he
bore his lonely burden like a man, and--courage! his hair is white and
he is nearing the end. {969}
_Admetus moves a few steps forward and the Procession, advances towards
the portal_: but the contrast catches his thought between this and
another procession towards the same threshold, when, amidst blazing
torches of Pelian pine and bridal dances, he led his new wife by the
hand, and shouts wished their union happy. Now wails for shouts, black
for glistening raiment, and before him the solitary chamber! {983}
_Chorus_ [_in Antistrophe_].
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