Yet where is
your triumph? Bereaved as I am, I am still richer than you, my
conqueror." Scarce had she spoken, when the bow sounded and struck
terror into all hearts except Niobe's alone. She was brave from
excess of grief. The sisters stood in garments of mourning over
the biers of their dead brothers. One fell, struck by an arrow,
and died on the corpse she was bewailing. Another, attempting to
console her mother, suddenly ceased to speak, and sank lifeless to
the earth. A third tried to escape by flight, a fourth by
concealment, another stood trembling, uncertain what course to
take. Six were now dead, and only one remained, whom the mother
held clasped in her arms, and covered as it were with her whole
body. "Spare me one, and that the youngest! O spare me one of so
many!" she cried; and while she spoke, that one fell dead.
Desolate she sat, among sons, daughters, husband, all dead, and
seemed torpid with grief. The breeze moved not her hair, no color
was on her cheek, her eyes glared fixed and immovable, there was
no sign of life about her. Her very tongue cleaved to the roof of
her mouth, and her veins ceased to convey the tide of life. Her
neck bent not, her arms made no gesture, her foot no step. She was
changed to stone, within and without. Yet tears continued to flow;
and borne on a whirlwind to her native mountain, she still
remains, a mass of rock, from which a trickling stream flows, the
tribute of her never-ending grief.
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