And leaving to her countrymen to bear Wild whirl of ships of war and shield and spear, And bringing as her dower, Death's doom to Ilion's tower, She hath passed quickly through the palace gate, Daring what none should dare; And lo! the minstrel seers bewail the fate That home must henceforth share; “Woe for the kingly house and for its lord; Woe for the marriage-bed and paths which still A vanished love doth fill! There stands he, wronged, yet speaking not a word Of scorn from wrathful will, Seeing with utter woe that he is left, Of her fair form bereft; And in his yearning love For her who now is far beyond the sea, A phantom queen through all the house shall rove; And all the joy doth flee The sculptured forms of beauty once did give; And in the penury of eyes that live, All Aphroditè's grace Is lost in empty space. ANTISTROPHE II And spectral forms in visions of the night Come, bringing sorrow with their vain delight: For vain it is when one Thinks that great joy is near, And, passing through his hands, the dream is gone On gliding wings, that bear The vision far away on paths of sleep.” Such woes were felt at home Upon the sacred altar of the hearth, And worse than these remain for those who roam From Hellas' parent earth: In every house, in number measureless, Is seen a sore distress: Yea, sorrows pierce the heart: For those who from his home he saw depart Each knoweth all too well; And now, instead of warrior's living frame, There cometh to the home where each did dwell The scanty ashes, relics of the flame, The urns of bronze that keep The dust of those that sleep. STROPHE III For Ares, who from bodies of the slain Reapeth a golden gain, And holdeth, like a trafficker, his scales, E'en where the torrent rush of war prevails, From Ilion homeward sends But little dust, yet burden sore for friends, O'er which, smooth-lying in the brazen urn, They sadly weep and mourn, Now for this man as foremost in the strife, And now for that who in the battle fell, Slain for another's wife. And muttered curses some in secret tell, And jealous discontent Against the Atreidæ who as champions led The mighty armament; And some around the wall, the goodly dead, Have there in alien land their monument, And in the soil of foes Take in the sleep of death their last repose. ANTISTROPHE III