The bulls, and now would she not, but with him would she cease to live.
Swift changed her mood: she would not die, she, nor the drugs would she give,
But in silence endure her fate, the curse that was doomed to betide.
Then, there as she sat, she wavered this way and that, and she cried: {770}
‘Oh hapless I, whether this way or that into ruin I fall!
On every hand is despair for my soul: no help is at all
From woe, but it burneth, a furnace unquenchèd!—would God it had been
Mine to be slain ere this by the shafts of the Huntress-queen,
Or ever I saw him, or came to Achaia-land the sons
Of Chalkiopê, whom a God, or the awful Avenging Ones