_Semi-Chor. A._ By the sword smitten low,
Thus are they now;
By the sword smitten low,
There wait them ... Nay,
Doth one perchance ask what?
Shares in their old ancestral sepulchres.
_Semi-Chor. B._ *The sorrow of the house is borne to them
By my heart-rending wail.
Mine own the cries I pour;
Mine own the woes I weep,
Bitter and joyless, shedding truest tears 910
From heart that faileth, even as they fall,
For these two kingly chiefs.