are a veil to hide her sister’s death: she cannot grasp
frenzy like that; she fears no darker day than that of their
mourning for Sychæus, and so she does her bidding. 20
But the queen, when the pile had been built in the heart
of the palace to the open sky, a giant mass of pine-wood and
hewn oak, spans the place with garlands, and crowns it
with funeral boughs. High above it on the couch she sets
the doffed apparel, and the sword that had been left, and 25
the image of the false lover, knowing too well what was
to come. Altars rise here and there; the priestess, with