What was; no dirge, except the hollow sea's,[EA]
Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.
LXXIII.
But many a Greek maid in a loving song
Sighs o'er her name; and many an islander
With her Sire's story makes the night less long;
Valour was his, and Beauty dwelt with her:
If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong—
A heavy price must all pay who thus err,
In some shape; let none think to fly the danger,