Of Ceres, while the Attic priests
Lead through the fields with hurried steps
The worshipers: such thronging hordes
Are driven through those silent plains.
A part goes slow with steps of age,
Sadly, and sated with the years;850
Some, in the earlier flush of life,
Advance with the sprightly step of youth,
Young maids not yet in wedlock joined,
And boys with flowing ringlets, babes,