Strophe VI.
Thus I complain, in piteous strain,
Grief-laden, tear-evoking, shrill;
Ah woe is me! woe! woe!
Dirge-like it sounds: mine own death-trill
I pour, yet breathing vital air.
Hear, hill-crowned Apia, hear my prayer!
Full well, O land, 110
My voice barbaric thou canst understand;
While oft with rendings I assail
My byssine vesture and Sidonian veil.
Antistrophe VI.
My nuptial rite in heaven's pure sight
Pollution were, death-laden, rude;
Ah woe is me! woe! woe!
Alas for sorrow's murky brood!
Where will this billow hurl me? Where?
Hear, hill-crowned Apia, hear my prayer; 120
Full well, O land,
My voice barbaric thou canst understand,
While oft with rendings I assail
My byssine vesture and Sidonian veil.
Strophe VII.
The oar indeed and home with sails
Flax-tissued, swelled with favouring gales,
Staunch to the wave, from spear-storm free,
Have to this shore escorted me,
