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And there withal his soothsayer and slave,

His chanting bed-fellow, his leman brave,

Who rubbed the galleys' benches at his side.

But, oh, they had their guerdon as they died!

For he lies thus, and she, the wild swan's way,

Hath trod her last long weeping roundelay,

And lies, his lover, ravisht o'er the main

For his bed's comfort and my deep disdain.

Would God that suddenly With no great agony,

No long sick-watch to keep,

My hour would come to me,

My hour, and presently

Bring the eternal, the

Unawaking sleep,

Now that my Shepherd, he

Whose love watched over me,

Lies in the deep!

For woman's sake he endured and battled well,

And by a woman's hand he fell.

What hast thou done, O Helen blind of brain,

O face that slew the souls on Ilion's plain,

One face, one face, and many a thousand slain?