7.For as the toiling hind bestrewing denseness of corn-stalksUnder the broiling sun mows grain-fields yellow to harvest,So shall his baneful brand strew earth with corpses of Troy-born.Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, 0 Spindles.

8.Aye to his valorous worth attest shall wave of ScamanderWhich unto Hellè-Sea fast flowing ever dischargeth,Straiter whose course shall grow by up-heaped barrage of corpses,While in his depths runs warm his stream with slaughter commingled.Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, 0 Spindles.

9.Witness in fine shall be the victim rendered to death-stroke,Whenas the earthern tomb on lofty tumulus buildedShall of the stricken maid receive limbs white as the snow-flake.Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, 0 Spindles.

10.For when at last shall Fors to weary Achaians her fiat