Halloo, halloo, ah, evils!Again, straightforward foresight’s fearful labourWhirls me, distracting with prelusive last-lays!Behold ye those there, in the household seated, —Young ones, — of dreams approaching to the figures?Children, as if they died by their beloveds —Hands they have filled with flesh, the meal domestic —Entrails and vitals both, most piteous burthen,Plain they are holding! — which their father tasted!For this, I say, plans punishment a certainLion ignoble, on the bed that wallows,House-guard (ah, me!) to the returning master— Mine, since to bear the slavish yoke behoves me!The ship’s commander, Ilion’s desolator,Knows not what things the tongue of the lewd she-dogSpeaking, outspreading, shiny-souled, in fashion