But at such now no more of her veil or her fillet a-floating
Had she regard: on thee, O Theseus! all of her heart-strength,
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All of her sprite, her mind, forlorn, were evermore hanging.
Ah, sad soul, by grief and grievance driven beside thee,
Sowed Erycína first those brambly cares in thy bosom,
What while issuing fierce with will enstarkenèd, Theseus
Forth from the bow-bent shore Piræan putting a-seawards
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Reacht the Gortynian roofs where dwelt th' injurious Monarch.