Ye Grecian nymphs, whom those barbarians caught,
And from your native land reluctant bore,
The tidings which yon sailor brought
Call forth these tears; for Ilion is no more,
By him of Ida, that predicted flame
Destroyed; through me, alas! have myriads bled,
If not through me, through my detested name.
By th’ ignominious noose is Leda dead
Who my imaginary guilt deplored;
And doomed by the relentless Fates in vain
To tedious wanderings, my unhappy lord
At length hath perished ’midst the billowy main:
The twin protectors of their native land,
Castor and Pollux, from all human eyes
Are vanished, they have left Eurotas’ strand,
And fields, in playful strife where each young wrestler vies.