Oh dark, and all too true
That curse of Œdipus and all his race,[125]
An evil chill is falling on my heart, 830
And, like a Thyiad wild,
Over his grave I sing a dirge of grief,
Hearing the dead have died by evil fate,
Each in foul bloodshed steeped;
Ah me! Ill-omened is the spear's accord.[126]