Yea, and they mourn who dwell beside the Colchian
shore,
The hero maids unwedded that delight in war,
And Scythia's swarming myriads who their dwelling
make
Around the borders of the world, the salt Maeotian
lake.
Mourns Ares' stock, that flowers in desert Araby,
And the strong city mourns, the hill-fort planted
high,
Near neighbour to huge Caucasus, dread mountaineers
That love the clash of arms, the counter of sharp
spears.
Beforetime of all Gods one have I seen in pain,
One only Titan bound with adamantine chain,
Atlas in strength supreme, who groaning stoops,
downbent
Under the burthen of the earth and heaven's broad
firmament.
Bellows the main of waters, surge with foam-seethed
surge
Clashing tumultuous; for thee the deep seas chant their
dirge;
And Hell's dark under-world a hollow moaning fills;
Thee mourn the sacred streams with all their fountain-rills.
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