clear'd softly between and tooth-nipt even it ever 315
Onward moved; still clung on wan lips, sodden as ashes,
Shreds all woolly from out that soft smooth surface arisen.
Lastly before their feet lay fells, white, fleecy, refulgent,
Warily guarded they in baskets woven of osier.
They, as on each light tuft their voice smote louder approaching, 320
Pour'd grave inspiration, a prophet chant to the future,
Chant which an after-time shall tax of vanity never.

O in valorous acts thy wondrous glory renewing,
Rich Aemathia's arm, great sire of a goodlier issue,
Hark on a joyous day what prophet-story the sisters 325
Open surely to thee; and you, what followeth after,
Guide to a long-drawn thread and run with destiny, spindles.

Soon shall approach, and bear the delight long-wish'd for of husbands,
Hesper, a bride shall approach in starlight happy presented,
Softly to sway thy soul in love's completion abiding, 330
Soon in a trance with thee of slumber dreamy to mingle,
Making smooth round arms thy clasp'd throat sinewy pillow.
Trail ye a long-drawn thread and run with destiny, spindles.

Never hath house closed yet o'er loves so blissful uniting,
Never love so well his children in harmony knitten, 335
So as Thetis agrees, as Peleus bendeth according.
Trail ye a long-drawn thread and run with destiny, spindles.

You shall a son see born that knows not terror, Achilles,
One whose back no foe, whose front each knoweth in onset;
Often a conqueror, he, where feet course swiftly together, 340
Steps of a fire-fleet doe shall leave in his hurry behind him.
Trail ye a long-drawn thread and run with destiny, spindles.

Him to resist in war, no champion hero ariseth,
Then on Phrygian earth when carnage Trojan is utter'd;
Then when a long sad strife shall Troy's crown'd city beleaguer, 345
Waste her a third false heir from Pelops wary descending.
Trail ye a long-drawn thread and run with destiny, spindles.

His unmatchable acts, his deeds of glorious honour,
Oft shall mothers speak o'er sons untimely departed;
While from crowns earth-bow'd fall loosen'd silvery tresses, 350
Beat on shrivell'd breasts weak palms their dusky defacing.
Trail ye a long-drawn thread and run with destiny, spindle