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Straiter whose course shall grow by up-heaped barrage of corpses,
While in his depths runs warm his stream with slaughter commingled.
360
Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, O Spindles.
Witness in fine shall be the victim rendered to death-stroke,
Whenas the earthern tomb on lofty tumulus builded
Shall of the stricken maid receive limbs white as the snow-flake.
Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, O Spindles.
365
For when at last shall Fors to weary Achaians her fiat
Deal, of Dardanus-town to burst Neptunian fetters,
Then shall the high-reared tomb stand bathed with Polyxena’s life-blood,
Who, as the victim doomed to fall by the double-edged falchion,
Forward wi’ hams relaxt shall smite a body beheaded.
370
Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, O Spindles.
Wherefore arise, ye pair, conjoin loves ardently longed-for,
Now doth the groom receive with happiest omen his goddess,
Now let the bride at length to her yearning spouse be delivered.
Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, O Spindles.
375
Neither the nurse who comes at dawn to visit her nursling
E’er shall avail her neck to begird with yesterday’s ribband.
[Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, O spindles.]