Hither that bend to the last way's end

They shall walk upon earth?

What song be rolled for a bride black-stoled

And the mother whose hand of her hand hath hold?

For anguish of heart is my soul's strength broken

And the tongue sealed fast that would fain have spoken,

To behold thee, O child of so bitter a birth

That we counted so sweet,

860

What way thy steps to what bride-feast tend,

What gift he must give that shall wed thee for token

If the bridegroom be goodly to greet.

CHTHONIA.

People, old men of my city, lordly wise and hoar of head,

I a spouseless bride and crownless but with garlands of the dead

From the fruitful light turn silent to my dark unchilded bed.

[Pg 50]

[Pg 50]

CHORUS.

Wise of word was he too surely, but with deadlier wisdom wise,

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