By the long-haired Sarmatae.
There the waters change with the changing year,540
Now ships, now horses bearing up.
From the queen who rules o'er virgin tribes,
With golden girdles on their loins,
He took her body's noble spoil,
Her shield and her snowy bosom's guard.545
On bended knee she acknowledged him victor.
With what hope, driven to the depths of hell,
Bold to tread irretraceable ways,