Nor shall the mother's soul for ill-matcht daughter a-grievingLose by a parted couch all hopes of favourite grandsons.Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, 0 Spindles.Thus in the bygone day Peleus' fate foretellingChaunted from breasts divine prophetic verse the Parcae.For that the pure chaste homes of heroes to visit in personOft-tide the Gods, and themselves to display where mortals were gathered,Wont were the Heavenlies while none human piety spurned.Often the Deities' Sire, in fulgent temple a-dwelling,Whenas in festal days received he his annual worship,Looked upon hundreds of bulls felled prone on pavement before him.Full oft Liber who roamed from topmost peak of ParnassusHunted his howling host, his Thyiads with tresses dishevelled.Then with contending troops from all their city outflockingGladly the Delphians hailed their God with smoking of altars.Often in death-full war and bravest of battle, or MavorsOr rapid Triton's Queen or eke the Virgin Rhamnusian,Bevies of weaponed men exhorting, proved their presence.But from the time when earth was stained with unspeakable scandalsAnd forth fro' greeding breasts of all men justice departed,