Helen that sister to the sons of Jove,
And Paris Ida’s swain,
With my curses still pursuing,
For to them I owe my ruin,
Me they from my country drove,
Never to return again,
By that detested spousal rite
On which Hymen never smiled,
No, ’twas some demon who with lewd delight
Their frantic souls beguiled:
Her may ocean’s waves no more
Waft to her paternal shore.