The voice which was the music of my life.
Alcestis! my Alcestis!—was she not
Of all her sex the flower? Was woman e’er
Adored like her before? Yet this is she,
The cold of heart, th’ ungrateful, who hath left
Her husband and her infants! This is she,
O my deserted children! who at once
Bereaves you of your parents.
Alc. Woe is me!
I hear the bitter and reproachful cries