Paris;—nay, bringing a Curse to his bowers of espousal he passed,
For whose sake, Troy, by the thousand galleys of Hellas wasted, 105
With fire and with sword destroyed by her fierce battle-spirit thou wast;
And Hector my lord by the scion of Thetis the Sea-king's daughter—
O for mine anguish!—was dragged round the ramparts of Ilium dead;
And myself from my bowers was haled to the strand of the exile-water,
Casting the sore-loathed veil of captivity over mine head. 110
Ah but my tears were down-streaming in flood when the galley swift-racing
Bore me afar from my town, from my bowers, from my lord in the tomb.
Woe for mine anguish!—what boots it on light any more to be gazing,
Who am yonder Hermionê's thrall?—ever harried and hunted of whom
Suppliant I cling to the Goddess's feet that mine hands are embracing, 115
Wasting in tears as a spring welling forth from the rock-riven gloom.
Enter Chorus of Phthian Maidens.
Chorus.
(Str. 1)
Lady, who, suppliant crouched on the pavement of Thetis' shrine,
Clingest long to thy sanctuary,
I daughter of Phthia, yet come unto thee of an Asian line,
