—in what way it shoots up men in their wooing of us, sprouted from thoughts of evil intent, having a frenzied purpose as its irresistible spur, and deluded, turning its thoughts to folly.
 Chorus 
 Such piteous strains of woe I utter in my pain, now shrill, now deep, blended with falling tears—Alas, alas! groans appropriate to funeral wails; though I live, I chant my own dirge.
 Chorus 
 I invoke Apia ’s hilly land—for well, O land, you understand my barbarous speech—,