No crafty Ulysses his eyes shall behold;
As boast of their triumphs he shall not bear onward150
In humble submission their prizes of war.
Those free, royal hands to the scepter accustomed,
Shall never be bound at his back like a slave,
As he follows the car of the triumphing chieftain,
A king led in fetters, the gaze of the town.155
Chorus: Hail! Priam the blessed we all do proclaim him;
For himself and his kingdom he rules yet below;
Now through the still depths of Elysium's shadows