For all the world is upside down, and nought have I recovered.”
One plies the spade to cover her, another shovels mortar,
The master-craftsman lifts a stone, and hurls it down upon her.
“Alas, alas for this our doom, alack for our sad fortune!
Three sisters we, and for all three a cruel fate was written.
One went to building Doúnavi, the next to build Avlóna,
And I, the last of all the three, must build the bridge of Arta.
Even as trembles my poor heart, so may the bridge-way tremble,
Even as my fair tresses fall, so fall all they that cross it!”
“Nay, change, girl, prithee change thy speech, and utter other presage;