VOICES OF THE NIGHT
Πότνια, πότνια νὺξ,
ὑπνοδότειρα τῶν πολυπόνον βροτῶν,
Ἐρεβόθεν ἴθι μόλε μόλε κατάπτερος
Ἀγαμεμνόνιον ἐπὶ δόμον
ὑπὸ γὰρ ἀλγέων, ὑπὸ τε συμφορᾶς
διοιχόμεθ’, οἰχόμεθα.
The Annotated Edition
VOICES OF THE NIGHT by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
This is a Greek epigraph that Longfellow included at the beginning of his 1839 collection *Voices of the Night* — it’s a choral cry from Euripides' *Electra*, inviting Night to arrive and grant sleep to troubled mortals.
§01Quick summary
What this poem is about
This is a Greek epigraph that Longfellow included at the beginning of his 1839 collection *Voices of the Night* — it’s a choral cry from Euripides' *Electra*, inviting Night to arrive and grant sleep to troubled mortals. It’s a heartfelt plea: "Night, please come and give us rest, for we are overwhelmed by pain and misfortune." Longfellow selected this to establish the mood for a collection of poems centered on themes of longing, sorrow, and the solace that darkness and stillness can offer.
§02Themes
Recurring themes
§03Line by line
Stanza by stanza, with notes
Πότνια, πότνια νὺξ, / ὑπνοδότειρα τῶν πολυπόνον βροτῶν,
Editor's note
The speaker directly addresses Night, referring to her as *Potnia*—a Greek title of respect that means 'Lady' or 'Queen.' She is called *hypnodotera*, the giver of sleep, for mortals who are *polypонon*—burdened by numerous labors. The repeated use of *Potnia* feels like an urgent, almost desperate call, akin to knocking twice on a door.
Ἐρεβόθεν ἴθι μόλε μόλε κατάπτερος / Ἀγαμεμνόνιον ἐπὶ δόμον
Editor's note
Night emerges from Erebus — the ancient Greek darkness lying beneath the earth — and is called to arrive *katapteros*, 'on swift wings,' at Agamemnon's house. The repeated *mole mole* ('come, come') heightens the sense of urgency. Agamemnon's household is steeped in legendary grief and violence, making it an ideal representation of a family overwhelmed by suffering.
ὑπὸ γὰρ ἀλγέων, ὑπὸ τε συμφορᾶς / διοιχόμεθ', οἰχόμεθα.
Editor's note
The final lines hit hard: 'For under pain, and under misfortune, we are destroyed — we are gone.' The verb *oichometha* appears twice in slightly different forms, creating a fading echo that captures the feelings of exhaustion and defeat. This isn’t just a metaphor for mild sadness; it boldly declares total collapse.
§04Tone & mood
How this poem feels
The tone is pleading and desperate — it's a prayer coming from the floor, not from the altar. There's no expectation of help from others; the only solace sought is to fall into unconsciousness, the brief mercy of sleep. Longfellow's selection of this passage as an epigraph indicates that the poems ahead will confront genuine suffering without holding back.
§05Symbols & metaphors
Symbols & metaphors
- Night (Νύξ)
- Night isn’t a threat here; it’s a safe haven. It’s depicted as a queen with the ability to bestow sleep—the only comfort for those in pain. Longfellow’s whole collection revolves around this concept: darkness as a realm for rest, introspection, and genuine emotion.
- Erebus
- In Greek cosmology, Erebus represents the deep darkness that exists before the underworld. Calling Night *from* Erebus implies that the relief sought is not just temporary — it's a profound and ancient yearning for deep, obliterating rest rather than a simple light nap.
- The House of Agamemnon
- Agamemnon's household represents, in Greek tragedy, a place where suffering is passed down and unavoidable. By mentioning it, the chorus emphasizes that their pain is profound and enduring — the kind that shapes a family's identity over generations.
- Wings (κατάπτερος)
- Night is portrayed as arriving on wings, making her a swift and merciful messenger. In Greek poetry, wings often belong to divine beings who traverse different realms; in this context, they imply that sleep is a gift bestowed from a place beyond our everyday human experience.
§06Historical context
Historical context
These six lines are taken from Euripides' tragedy *Electra*, written around 413 BCE, and are sung by the chorus as they witness Electra and Orestes grappling with their family's curse. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow included them as the Greek epigraph to *Voices of the Night* (1839), his first published poetry collection. As a professor of modern languages at Harvard who spoke Greek fluently, quoting Euripides felt instinctive to Longfellow, but it was also a conscious artistic choice. He aimed to convey that the sorrows depicted in his collection weren't merely personal grievances but rather part of a broader human tradition of expressing anguish. This collection emerged during a time of profound personal loss for Longfellow; his first wife, Mary, had passed away in 1835, and he was still grappling with that grief. Thus, the epigraph serves not just as an embellishment—it's a heartfelt admission.
§07FAQ
Questions readers ask
Ancient Greek, specifically a passage of choral verse from Euripides' tragedy *Electra*, composed in the late 5th century BCE. Longfellow quoted it without translation, believing that educated readers of the 19th century would either recognize it or at least appreciate its significance.
No. These lines are the epigraph by Longfellow — a quote he took from Euripides' *Electra* to introduce his 1839 collection *Voices of the Night*. Longfellow is the one curating this, not the author of the Greek verse.
Everything. The epigraph introduces Night as a vibrant, winged entity that listens to human suffering. The title suggests that the poems in this collection represent those voices — the cries, prayers, and reflections sent into the darkness. The Greek passage provides the context that gives the title its significance.
In Euripides' original play, the chorus—made up of women witnessing Electra's suffering—sings these lines to express shared grief. Longfellow removes them from that dramatic setting, allowing them to serve as a broader reflection on human pain.
Quoting Euripides accomplishes a few things simultaneously: it connects his personal grief to a 2,000-year-old tradition of human suffering, conveys a sense of literary depth, and allows him to express something raw and desperate without attributing it directly to himself. It conveys the message 'this feeling is both real and ancient' without needing an introduction.
Exhausted desperation. The speakers aren't angry or defiant; they're individuals who have been worn down to nothing, simply pleading for sleep. The repeated phrases ('come, come'; 'we are destroyed, we are gone') reflect someone too weary to finish their thoughts.
In its original context, it serves as a choral ode within a complete tragedy. However, Longfellow uses it as a standalone epigraph—a brief, self-contained statement of theme. Most readers encounter it like this, as the entry point into *Voices of the Night*.
In Euripides, the meaning is almost literal: Electra and Orestes confront genuine danger and the threat of ruin. Longfellow, on the other hand, employs it as an epigraph in a figurative sense — representing the devastation caused by grief, loss, and that deep pain that can make someone feel detached from their normal existence. Both interpretations hold weight, and both carry a sense of despair.
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