Elegy XIII: Of Juno's Feast.My wife, a native of Phaliscan plains,Where the rich soils enrich the lab'ring swains,Where purple grapes and golden apples grow,A conquest we to great Camillus owe.When once to Juno's feast she thither went,My mind to know the secret rites was bent:The pious priests the solemn sports prepare,And purify the fane with holy care.A heifer of the place they sacrifice,But ne'er to men expose their mysteries,I mark'd the hidden way my consort went,And follow'd down the deep and dark descent.To an old wood at last I came, whose shadeImpress'd a horror on the gloom it made,And ev'ry step with trembling feet I trod,Profan'd, I thought, the dwelling of a god.