own, and draw forth the shaft from the quiver. First
through heaven from the twanging string the arrow of
Hyrtacus’ youthful son pierces sharp and shrill the flying
air: it hits—it is lodged full in the mast-tree. After 35
him stood keen Mnestheus, his bowstring drawn to his
breast, his bow pointing upwards, eye and shaft levelled
at once. But the bird itself, hapless man! his arrow had
not power to touch that: it cut the knot and the hempen
fastening by which she hung, tied by the foot, from the
mast’s top. Away she flew, all among the south-winds