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Helen Oh! Oh! Maidens of Hellas, the prey of barbarian sailors! An Achaean sailor came, he came bringing tears upon tears to me. Ilion has been destroyed and is left to the enemy's fire through me, the death-giver, through my name, full of suffering. Leda sought death by hanging, in anguish over my disgrace. My husband, after much wandering in the sea, has died and is gone; and Castor and his brother, twin glory of their native land, have vanished, vanished, leaving the plains that shook to their galloping horses, and the schools of reed-fringed Eurotas, scene of youthful labors.
Helen Ah! Who was it, either from Phrygia or from Hellas, who cut the pine that brought tears to Ilion? From this wood the son of Priam built his deadly ship, and sailed by barbarian oars to my home, to that most ill-fated beauty, to win me as his wife; and with him sailed deceitful and murderous Kypris, bearing death for the Danaans. Oh, unhappy in my misfortune! But Hera, the holy beloved of Zeus on her golden throne, sent the swift-footed son of Maia. I was gathering fresh rose leaves in the folds of my robe, so that I might go to the goddess of the Bronze House; he carried me off through the air to this luckless land, and made me an object of miserable strife, of strife between Hellas and the sons of Priam. And my name beside the streams of Simois bears a false rumor.
Chorus May you come at last, speeding over your horses' path through the sky, sons of Tyndareus, under the whirling of the radiant stars; you who dwell in heaven, Helen's rescuers, go over the gray-green swell and the dark gray surge of sea-waves, sending the sailors favoring breezes from Zeus; and cast away from your sister her ill-fame from marriage with a barbarian, the punishment she received from the contest on Ida; but she never went to the land of Ilion, to the towers of Phoebus.
Well, we easily put the other victims on the ship, for they were light; but the bull did not want to go forward along the plank, but kept bellowing loudly, rolling his eyes around; and, arching his back and peering along his horns, he prevented us from touching him. But Helen's husband called out: “O you who sacked the town of Ilion, come pick up this bull on young shoulders, as is the way in Hellas, and cast him into the prow . . . the sacrifice to the dead man.” Then they came at his summons, and caught up the bull and carried him on to the deck. And Menelaos stroked the horse on neck and brow, coaxing it to go aboard. Finally, when the ship was fully loaded, Helen climbed up the ladder with elegant step, and took her seat in the middle of the rowers' benches, and he was near by, Menelaos who was called dead. The rest, equally divided on the right and left sides of the ship, sat down, each beside his man, with swords concealed beneath their cloaks, and the waves were filled wi