She spake and shed an offering on the board;
Then sipp’d the bowl whence she the wine had pour’d
And gave to Bitias, urging the prompt lord;
He rais’d the bowl, and took a long deep draught;
Then every chief in turn the beverage quaff’d. 120
Graced with redundant hair, Iopas sings
The lore of Atlas, to resounding strings,
The labours of the Sun, the lunar wanderings;
Whence human kind, and brute; what natural powers
Engender lightning, whence are falling showers. 125