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(Ant. 1)
They have passed 'neath the leaves of the glen: from the plashing
Of the mountain-spring radiant in rose-flush they rise.
To the King's Son they wended, while to and fro flashing
The gibes of their lips matched the scorn of their eyes. 290
But 'twas Kypris by promise of guile overcame—
Ah sweet to the ear, but for deathless shame
And confusion to Phrygia, when Troy's towers crashing
Ruinward toppled—her bitter prize!
(Str. 2)
Oh had she dealt him, that mother which bore him,
A death-blow cleaving his head in twain,
When shrieked Kassandra her prophecy o'er him,—
Ere his eyry on Ida o'erlooked Troy's plain,—
By the sacred bay shrieked "Slay without pity
The curse and the ruin of Priam's city!"
Unto prince, unto elder, she came, to implore him 300
To slay it, the infant foredoomed their bane.
(Ant. 2)
Then had he never been made an occasion
Of thraldom to Ilium's daughters: O queen,
Thy suppliant seat were the throne of a nation;
Nor the ten years' agony then had ye seen,
With the war-cries of Hellas aye rolling their thunder
Round Troy, with spear-lightnings aye flashing thereunder;
Nor the couch of the bride were a desolation,
Nor bereft of their sons had the grey sires been.