Often mothers shall own at funeral-rites of their children,
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What time their hoary hairs from head in ashes are loosened,
And wi' their hands infirm they smite their bosoms loose duggèd.
Speed ye, the well-spun woof out-drawing, speed ye, O Spindles.
7.
For as the toiling hind bestrewing denseness of corn-stalks
Under the broiling sun mows grain-fields yellow to harvest,
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So shall his baneful brand strew earth with corpses of Troy-born.