It was not as a bride that Paris brought Helen to lofty Troy into his chamber to lie with but rather as mad ruin.
For her sake, the sharp warcraft of Greece in its thousand ships captured you, O Troy, sacked you with fire and sword, and killed Hector, husband to luckless me. The son of the sea-goddess Thetis dragged him, as he rode his chariot, about the walls of Troy. I myself was led off from my chamber to the sea-shore,
putting hateful slavery as a covering about my head. Many were the tears that rolled down my cheeks when I left my city and my home and my husband lying in the dust. Oh, unhappy me, why should I still look on the light as Hermione's slave? Oppressed by her
I have come as suppliant to this statue of the goddess and cast my arms about it, and I melt in tears like some gushing spring high up on a cliff.