Through Thrakè's widespread steppes,
And paths o'er which the tempests wildly sweep.
Strophe II
And they who perished first, ah me!
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Perforce unburied left, alas!
Are scattered round Kychreia's shore,[[46]] woe! woe!
Lament, mourn sore, and raise a bitter cry,
Grievous, the sky to pierce, woe! woe!
And let thy mourning voice uplift its strain