(1) O gods and divinities, where did these many arrows come from, both terrible and all against my children? Alas, for the evils! I have utterly lost all my twelve children. And there is no one to call me “mother” any more, who was called this by so many just recently.
(2) O, for the arrows implanted in their bodies! O, for the blood flowing through the bodies! O, for the beauty of the daughters; O, for the beauty of the sons! O, the loveliness of their braids; O, the outward grace of their faces! O, for their most dear chests! Those who shot the arrows respected none of this.
(3) Whom am i to embrace first?Whom am i to lament second? To whom am i to go third? Whom am i to pass over? Whom am i to lay hold of? Where am i to find a multitude of tears sufficient for twelve corpses? What will be the manner of the funeral? Will it be necessary to carry them all as a group and for bier to follow bier, or to bury one and then run to the next? Will there be one tomb for all, or one for each, and will there be twelve markers and so many epitaphs?
(4) O, for the strange suffering! In the boys’ rooms the implements of war, in the girls’ rooms the implements of the battle line. Let someone pull out the arrows; let someone cover the corpses. I have refused to look at the wounds. What divinity made war on us? I, the ill-starred, perceive it; I barely comprehend it. Your mother, O children, has destroyed you. I changed your fortune and other people’s talk about me; for formerly they would say, “How blessed is Niobe, born from such parents, having given birth to such children, and moreover, to so many!To this indeed something even greater was added, association with a god and the friendship of Leto, whom she sees present, whom she hears talking.”
(5) Making fun of this goddess at some point, I, the unfortunate one, counted up my children, but she did not tolerate a woman being foolish. Rather, one little statement, having outrun my powers of reason, ripped apart and destroyed that great, long friendship. See how much a slip of the tongue can do!
(6) O, for the excessiveness; O, for the savagery! Was it not sufficient to deprive me of conversation with her? Was it not sufficient to throw me out of the relationship? But I, too, should have suffered something physically. There were these hands; there were eyes and feet. One of these should have been maimed, or rather, instead of these, the tongue that does not know how to remain silent.
(7) But someone had to fall completely by the arrows of Apollo. What, then? Did I not have a body, I, the one who made the utterance, who had behaved wickedly? Would justice not also have been preserved in this way, if the punishment had come to the wrongdoer? But now, O gods and laws and justice, the mother was wicked, while the children were blameless. And the mother lives, while the children are dead. What mistake did they make, O Leto and Artemis and Apollo and arrows?
(8) But this question of justice, being so important, should have been considered in passing. Let one boy die; let one girl fall. but if this is too little, let me divide up my children. And if even more have to perish, at least leave me the ability to be called “mother,” sparing one body of each sex.
(9) Instead, all my boys and all my girls are compelled to be utterly wiped out. Why, then, did you not add me, too, rather than punishing me with living?
(10) This evil, then, I will resolve for myself; for why will I go on living? So that I may shed tears and wail, and so that night and day may see only this for me? So that I may run to the tombs and call to my children in vain, and be called the most wretched woman of all?
(11) What will give me consolation for this? Who else has suffered such losses? The victory of the gods is indeed fine. They have emptied my happy home. I suppose they are now proud that they have killed twelve. But there will not be twelve, no; for add also a thirteenth, about to destroy myself because of you.
