Let them fling their arms away:
Hear our sharp shrill-piercing wailings,
When for Cadmus’ weal we pray!
STROPHE II.
Sad it were, and food for weeping,
To behold these walls Ogygian,
By the stranger spearman mounted,
Levelled by the Argive foe,
And these towers by god-sent vengeance
Laid in crumbling ashes low.