Without sword, without sword is he stricken;
Slain, and slain without hand.
SECOND MESSENGER.
For as keen ice divided of the sun
His limbs divide, and as thawed snow the flesh
Thaws from off all his body to the hair.
SEMICHORUS.
He wastes as the embers quicken;
With the brand he fades as a brand
SECOND MESSENGER.
Even while they sang and all drew hither and he
Lifted both hands to crown the Arcadian's hair
And fix the looser leaves, both hands fell down.
SEMICHORUS.
With rending of cheek and of hair
Lament ye, mourn for him, weep.
SECOND MESSENGER.
Straightway the crown slid off and smote on earth,
First fallen; and he, grasping his own hair, groaned
And cast his raiment round his face and fell.