Then while the happy people cried "Well done,"
And Priam's heart was melted by the tale -
For Paris was his best-beloved son -
Came a wild woman, with wet eyes, and pale
Sad face, men look'd on when she cast her veil,
Not gladly; and none mark'd the thing she said,
Yet must they hear her long and boding wail
That follow'd still, however fleet they fled.
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