on either brow she upreared a serpent lock, and cracked her
whip, and with infuriate lips followed thus: “Here is the
mouldering mother, whom dotage, drained dry of truth, is
mocking with false alarms in an atmosphere of royal armaments. 20
Turn your eyes hither; I am come from the dwelling
of the Dread Sisters: war and death are wielded by
this hand.”
Saying thus, she hurled a torch full at the youth, and
lodged in his breast the pine-wood with its lurid smoke and 25
glare. The bonds of sleep are broken by the giant terror,