But at such now no more of her veil or her fillet a-floatingHad she regard: on you, Theseus! all of her heart-strength,All of her sprite, her mind, forlorn, were evermore hanging.Ah, sad soul, by grief and grievance driven beside you,Sowed Erycina first those brambly cares in thy bosom,What while issuing fierce with will enstarkened, TheseusForth from the bow-bent shore Piraean putting a-seawardsReacht the Gortynian roofs where dwelt the injurious Monarch.For 'twas told of yore how forced by pestilence cruel,Eke as a blood rite due for the Androgeonian murder,Many a chosen youth and the bloom of damsels unmarriedFood for the Minotaur, Cecropia was wont to befurnish.Seeing his narrow walls in such wise vexed with evils,Theseus of freest will for dear-loved Athens his bodyOffered a victim so that no more to Crete be deportedLives by Cecropia doomed to burials burying nowise;Then with a swifty ship and soft breathed breezes a-stirring,Sought he Minos the Haughty where homed in proudest of Mansions.Him as with yearning glance forthright espied the royalMaiden, whom pure chaste couch aspiring delicate odoursCherisht, in soft embrace of a mother comforted all-whiles,(E'en as the myrtles begot by the flowing floods of Eurotas,Or as the tincts distinct brought forth by breath of the springtide)Never the burning lights of her eyes from gazing upon himTurned she, before fierce flame in all her body conceived sheDown in its deepest depths and burning within her marrow.Ah, with unmitigate heart exciting wretchedmost furies,You, Boy sacrosanct! man's grief and gladness commingling,You too of Golgos Queen and Lady of leafy Idalium,Whelm'd you in what manner waves that maiden fantasy-fired,All for a blond-haired youth suspiring many a singulf!Whiles how dire was the dread she dreed in languishing heart-strings;How yet more, ever more, with golden splendour she paled!Whenas yearning to mate his might with the furious monsterTheseus braved his death or sought the prizes of praises.Then of her gifts to gods not ingrate, nor profiting naught,Promise with silent lip, addressed she timidly vowing.For as an oak that shakes on topmost summit of TaurusIts boughs, or cone-growing pine from bole bark resin exuding,Whirlwind of passing might that twists the stems with its storm-blasts,Uproots, deracinates, forthright its trunk to the farthest,Prone falls, shattering wide what lies in line of its downfall,—Thus was that wildling flung by Theseus and vanquisht of body,Vainly tossing its horns and goring the wind to no purpose.Thence with abounding praise returned he, guiding his footsteps,