Would thou may'st perish with no hand to help,
Crossing the sea's wide plain,
In wanderings far and wide,
Where Sarpedonian sand-bank[[261]] spreads its length,
Driven by the sweeping blasts!
Her. Sob thou, and howl, and call upon the Gods:
850
Thou shalt not 'scape that barque from Ægypt come,
Though thou should'st pour a bitterer strain of grief.
Antistrophe II