One of us for the riches of his house,
And one for honour in the mouths of men!625
These things be nought. All vain the heart's devisings,
The vauntings of the tongue! Most blest is he
To whom no ill befalls as days wear on.
Chorus.
My doom of disaster was written,
The doom of mine anguish was sealed,630
When of Paris the pine-shafts were smitten
Upon Ida, that earthward they reeled,
To ride over ridges surf-whitened
Till the bride-bed of Helen was won,
Woman fairest of all that be lightened
By the gold of the sun.
For battle-toils, yea, desolations
Yet sorer around us close;
And the folly of one is the nation's640
Destruction; of alien foes
Cometh ruin by Simois' waters.
So judged is the doom that was given
When on Ida the strife of the Daughters
Of the Blessed was striven,
For battle, for murder, for ruin
Of mine halls:—by Eurotas is moan,650
Where with tears for their homes' undoing
The maidens Laconian groan,
Where rendeth her tresses hoary
The mother for sons that are dead,
And her cheeks with woe-furrows are gory,
And her fingers are red.
