To whom shall I complain of his cruel deceit,
To the silent trees, of my sad sorrow?
To the deaf sea, to far lands, to the morning sky?
Of feigned love, of aching disillusion!
He flees, the treacherous author of so much harm,
And I, left behind, a lonely pilgrim
For all my tears I receive no consolation,
So many, yet my pain does not lessen.
Ye gods, if amongst you there are any
Who have tasted bitter ungrateful love
Avenge me, I pray on the traitor Theseus!
Such was the complaint of Ariadne
Her sad lament to the heavens above
The sea took her wailing, and the winds, her desire.
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