There too, this captive slave, this auguress,
And this man's concubine,—this prophetess,
His faithful bedfellow, who shared with him
The sailor's bench. Not unrequited wrought they;
For he lies—thus. While she, in swan-like fashion,
Having breathed forth her last, her dying wail, 1420
Lies here, to him a paramour, and so
Adds keener relish to my sweet revenge.
Chorus. Strophe I.
Oh might some sudden Fate
Not tethered to a weight
Of couch-enchaining anguish, hither waft
The boon of endless sleep!
For our most gracious guardian slain we weep,
In woman's cause of yore
Full many a pang who bore,
And now lies smitten by a woman's craft.
Strophe II.
Woe! frenzied Helen, woe! 1430
Through thee alone, through one,
How many souls, how many, were undone;
What havoc dire 'neath Troia thou hast wrought.
*****
Strophe III.
And now the cureless woe,
Heirloom of blood, shed long ago,
Through thee hath blossomed, causing strife
Unquenchable, with husband-murder rife.
