O my native stream Scamander,
Where in youth I wont to wander,
And was nursed for future woes,
Where thy swirling current flows!
But now on sluggish shore
Of Cocytus I shall pour,
’Mid the Acherusian glades,
My divinings to the shades.
STROPHE X.
Chorus.
Nothing doubtful is the token;