cauldrons bubbling over the fire, and wash and anoint the
cold corpse. Loud rings the wail: then, the dirge over,
they place the limbs on the couch that claims them,
and fling over them purple garments, the dead men’s
usual covering. Some put their shoulders to the heavy 35
bier in melancholy service, and after ancestral fashion,
with averted eyes, apply the torch from under. The rich
heap is ablaze—offerings of incense, sacrificial viands, oil
streaming from the bowl. After that the ashes were fallen
in and the blaze was lulled, they drenched with wine the