to thee, Phœbus, his feathery oarage, and raised a mighty
temple. On the doors was seen Androgeos’ death: there
too were the sons of Cecrops,[204] constrained—O cruel woe!
to pay in penalty the yearly tale of seven of their sons’ 25
lives: the urn is standing, and the lots drawn out. On the
other side, breasting the wave, the Gnossian land frowns
responsive. There is Pasiphaë’s tragic passion for the
bull, and the mingled birth, the Minotaur, half man, half
brute, a monument of monstrous love. There is the edifice,[205] 30
that marvel of toiling skill, and its inextricable maze—inextricable,