The home that she has lost,
And wails her son's sad doom,
How he at her hand died,
Meeting with evil wrath unmotherly;
Strophe III
E'en so do I, to wailing all o'er-given,
In plaintive music of Ionian mood,[[216]]
[*]Vex the soft cheek on Neilos' banks that bloomed,
And heart that bursts in tears,
And pluck the flowers of lamentations loud,