Even so from the Nile summer-tinted,
With Ionian wailings unstinted,[n6]
My cheek with the keen nail I tear;
And I pluck, where it bloweth,
Griefs blossom that groweth
In this heart first acquainted with care;
And I fear the fierce band,
From the far misty land,[n7]
Whom the swift ships to Argos may bear.
ANTISTROPHE III.