Stasimon 1
Destruction — swiftly through the gates she went,
Daring the undareable. But many a groan outbroke
From prophets of the House as thus they spoke.
Woe, woe the House, the House and Rulers, — woe
The marriage-bed and dints
410
A husband’s love imprints!
There she stands silent! meets no honour — no
Shame — sweetest still to see of things gone long ago!
And, through desire of one across the main,
A ghost will seem within the house to reign.
415
And hateful to the husband is the grace
Of well-shaped statues: from — in place of eyes
Those blanks — all Aphrodite dies.
But dream-appearing mournful fantasies —
420
There they stand, bringing grace that’s vain.
For vain ’t is, when brave things one seems to view;
The fantasy has floated off, hands through;
Gone, that appearance, — nowise left to creep, —
425
On wings, the servants in the paths of sleep!
Woes, then, in household and on hearth, are such
