that simple well, if the flying arrow should lodge in their 20
flesh. Veiled by a dim cloud, the goddess brings it down;
with it she impregnates the spring water gleaming in the
caldron, imparting unseen powers, and sprinkles ambrosia’s[285]
healthful juice and fragrant panacea. The old
man rinsed the wound with the water so transformed, all 25
unwitting, and in a moment all pain was fled from the
frame, and the blood was stanched in the wound. The
arrow obeys the hand, and falls unforced, and strength is
restored as before. “Quick! give the warrior his arms!