The very high-born maidens, forsaken in their woe, were worn and faded.
[1205]
Down to the beach they plodded, as was their wont before,
Bearing the clothing with them to the bleak and sandy shore.
They once more were standing, over the washing stooping;
Ever they were thinking of their sorry plight, and sadly were they hoping.
[1206]
Often now, and earnestly, over the watery waste,
While they toiled and sorrowed, longing looks they cast;
Still of those now dreaming sent by the queen to free them,