haunted lake, and the woods that rustle over Avernus, you
will have sight of the frenzied prophetess, who, in the 30
cavern under the rock, chants her fateful strain, and commits
characters and words to the leaves of trees. All the
strains that the maid has written on these leaves she
arranges in order, shuts them up in her cave, and leaves
them there. They remain as she has left them, their 35
disposition unchanged. But, strange to say, when the
hinge is turned, and a breath of air moves the leaves,
and the opened door throws their light ranks into confusion,