with unmemoried breast forsaking
her, left her bound in the shadows of sleep? And oft, so 'tis said, with
her heart burning with fury she outpoured clarion cries from depths of her
bosom, then sadly scaled the rugged mounts, whence she could cast her
glance o'er the vasty seething ocean, then ran into the opposing billows of
the heaving sea, raising from her bared legs her clinging raiment, and in
uttermost plight of woe with tear-stained face and chilly sobs spake she
thus:--

"Is it thus, O perfidious, when dragged from my motherland's shores, is it
thus, O false Theseus, that thou leavest me on this desolate strand? thus
dost depart unmindful of slighted godheads, bearing home thy perjured vows?
Was no thought able to bend the intent of thy ruthless mind? hadst thou no
clemency there, that thy pitiless bowels might compassionate me? But these
were not the promises thou gavest me idly of old, this was not what thou
didst bid me hope for, but the blithe bride-bed, hymenaeal happiness: all
empty air, blown away by the breezes. Now, now, let no woman give credence
to man's oath, let none hope for faithful vows from mankind; for whilst
their eager desire strives for its end, nothing fear they to swear, nothing
of promises stint they: but instant their lusting thoughts are satiate with
lewdness, nothing of speech they remember, nothing of perjuries reck. In
truth I snatched thee from the midst of the whirlpool of death, preferring
to suffer the loss of a brother rather than fail thy need in the supreme
hour, O ingrate. For the which I shall be a gift as prey to be rent by wild
beasts and the carrion-fowl, nor dead shall I be placed in the earth,
covered with funeral mound. What lioness bare thee 'neath lonely crag? What
sea conceived and spued thee from its foamy crest? What Syrtis, what
grasping Scylla, what vast Charybdis? O thou repayer with such guerdon for
thy sweet life! If 'twas not thy heart's wish to yoke with me, through
holding in horror the dread decrees of my stern sire, yet thou couldst have
led me to thy home, where as thine handmaid I might have served thee with
cheerful service, laving thy snowy feet with clear water, or spreading the
purple coverlet o'er thy couch. Yet why, distraught with woe, do I vainly
lament to the unknowing winds, which unfurnished with sense, can neither
hear uttered complaints nor can return them? For now he has sped away into
the midst of the seas, nor doth any mortal appear along