Of curse to Argos.
STROPHE V.
And as they led the maid, her saffron robe[n26]
Sweeping the ground, with pity-moving dart
She smote each from her eye,
Even as a picture beautiful, fain to speak,
But could not. Well that voice they knew of yore;
Oft at her father’s festive board,
With gallant banqueters ringed cheerly round,
The virgin strain they heard[n27]