The gloomy threats of Erebus,
And ravenous fate.
Thee it becomes to crown thy locks with flowers of the springtime,
Thee to bind thy head with the Tyrian fillet;
Or with the clinging ivy, gleaming with berries,
Softly to wreathe thy brow;415
Now thy hair to unbind and spread in confusion,
Now in close-drawn knot to collect and confine it;
Just as when thou, fearing the wrath of Juno,
Didst conceal thyself in the guise of maidens.