The moody-muttered grudge creeps forth,
And points its stings.
Others they mourn who ’neath Troy’s wall
Entombed, dark sleep prolong,
Low pressed beneath the hostile sod,
The beautiful, the strong!
ANTISTROPHE III.
O hard to bear, when evil murmurs fly,
Is a nation’s hate; unblest on whom doth lie
A people’s curse!