Its arduous voyage more than half complete,
In the Ægean deep, and near the land,
May the red lightning by Jove’s hand
Winged from the skies with tenfold ruin, meet
The bark that wafts me o’er the wave
From Troy to Greece a miserable slave.
Before the golden mirror wont to braid
Her tresses, like a sportive maid,
May Helen never reach the Spartan shore,
Those household gods to whom she proved untrue,
Nor her paternal mansions view,
Enter the streets of Pitane no more,
Nor Pallas’ temple with its brazen gate;
Because her nuptials teemed with foul disgrace
To mighty Greece through each confederate state;
And hence on Simois’ banks were slain Troy’s guiltless race.
But ha! on this devoted realm are hurled
Successive woes. Ye hapless Phrygian dames,
Behold the slain Astyanax, whom Greece
With rage inhuman from yon towers hath thrown.