In vain we shun the fields of war,
And breakers dashed on Adria’s shore;
Vainly we flee, in terror blind,
The plague that walketh on the wind;
The sluggish river of the Dead,
Cocytus, must be visited;
And Danaüs’ detested brood,
Foul with their fifty husbands’ blood;
And Sisyphus, with ghastly smile
Pointing to his eternal toil.