duly punished for his crime, profaning the sacred wood 10
with his weapon’s point, and hurling his guilty lance
against the back of the steed. Let the image be drawn
to her temple, and let prayer be made to the goddess, is
the general cry—we break through the walls and open
the town within. All gird them to the work, putting 15
wheels to run easily under its feet, and throwing lengths
of hempen tie round its neck. It scales the walls, that
fateful engine, with its armed brood—boys and unwedded
girls, standing about it, chant sacred hymns, delighted to