But whither shall our alien course be sped?
Perchance to Pleuron's gates we go,
Where Dian's sell was counted foe;
Perchance to Troezen's winding shore,
The land which mighty Theseus bore;
Or Pelion, by whose rugged side
Their mad ascent the giants tried.
Here, stretched within his mountain cave, 830
Once Chiron to Achilles gave
The lyre, whose stirring strains attest
The warlike passions of his breast. 835
What foreign shore our homeless band invites?
Must we our native country deem
Where bright Carystos' marbles gleam?
Where Chalcis breasts the heaving tide,
And swift Euripus' waters glide?
Perchance unhappy fortune calls 840
To bleak Gonoessa's windswept walls;
Perchance our wondering eyes shall see
Eleusin's awful mystery; 845
Or Elis, where great heroes strove
To win the Olympic crown of Jove. 850
Then welcome, stranger lands beyond the sea!
Let breezes waft our wretched band,
Where'er they list, to any land;
If only Sparta's curséd state
(To Greeks and Trojans common fate)
And Argos, never meet our view,
And bloody Pelops' city too; 855
May we ne'er see Ulysses' isle,
Whose borders share their master's guile.
But thee, O Hecuba, what fate,
What land, what Grecian lord await? 860
ACT IV
[Enter Helen.]
Helen [aside]: Whatever wedlock, bred of evil fate,
Is full of joyless omens, blood and tears,
Is worthy Helen's baleful auspices.
