63
Alas for her doom!
Round about her yellow hair
Her own hand will set it there,
Signet jewel of the tomb.
Antistrophe I.
By the grace and the perfect gleaming won 985 (982)
She will place the gold-wrought crown on her head,
She will robe herself in the robe; and anon
She will deck her a bride among the dead.
Alas for her doom!
Fallen in such snare, too late 990 (989)
Would she struggle from her fate,
Hers the death-lot of the tomb.
Strophe II.
But thou, oh wretched man, oh woeful-wed,
Yet marriage-linked to kings; thou all unseeing,
Who nearest fast 995 (993)
A swift destruction to thy children's being,
A hateful death to her who shares thy bed,
Oh hapless man, how fallen from thy past!
