A goodly crop to you hath grown
Of woe and wailing;
Ye reaped the seed by Laius sown,
The god prevailing.
Shrill yelled the curse, a deathful shout,
And scattered sheer in hopeless rout
The kingly race did fall; and lo!
Fell Até planteth
Her trophy at the gate; and there
Triumphant o’er the princely pair