beholds a sun and stars of its own. There are some,
plying their limbs on the grassy wrestling-ground, conflicting
in sport, and grappling each other on the yellow
sand: some are beating their feet in the dance, and chanting 30
songs. There, too, is the Thracian priest[224] in his flowing
robe, singing the seven notes in unison with the
dancer’s measure, and striking them now with his fingers,
now with the quill of ivory. Here are the old race of
Teucer, a goodly family, heroes of lofty soul, born in 35
earth’s better days, Ilus and Assaracus, and Dardanus,