wickedness of the Spartan woman that plunged me thus
deep in ill: these tokens are of her leaving. How we 30
spent that fatal night in treacherous joyance you know
well: too good cause is there to bear it in mind. When
the fateful horse at one bound surmounted the height of
Pergamus, and brought a mailclad infantry in its laden
womb, she feigned a solemn dance, and led round the 35
city Phrygian dames in Bacchic ecstasy; herself in their
midst raising a mighty torch aloft, and calling to the
Danaans from the top of the citadel. That hour I, spent