she is
changed into a swallow, Philomela into a nightingale, and Tereus
himself into a lapwing.

It is {now} the time[63] when the Sithonian[64] matrons are wont to
celebrate the triennial festival of Bacchus. Night is conscious of their
rites; by night Rhodope resounds with the tinklings of the shrill
cymbal. By night the queen goes out of her house, and is arrayed
according to the rites of the God, and carries the arms of the frantic
solemnity. Her head is covered with vine leaves; from her left side hang
down the skins of a deer;[65] upon her shoulder rests a light spear.
{Then} the terrible Progne rushing through the woods, a multitude of her
followers attending her, and agitated by the fury of her resentment,
pretends, Bacchus, that it is {inspired} by thee.

She comes at length to the lonely dwelling, and howls aloud, and cries
"Evoe!" and breaks open the gates, and seizes her sister, and puts upon
her, {so} seized, the badges of Bacchus, and conceals her countenance
under the foliage of ivy; and dragging her along, full of amazement,
leads her within her threshold. When Philomela perceives that she has
arrived at that accursed house,[66] the wretched woman shudders, and
paleness spreads over her whole face. Progne having {now} got a
{fitting} place {for so doing}, takes away the symbols of the rites,[67]
and unveils the blushing face of her wretched sister; and holds her in
her embraces. But she, on the other hand, cannot endure to lift up her
eyes; seeming to herself the supplanter of her sister, and fixing her
looks on the ground, her hand is in the place of voice to her, as she
desires to swear and to call the Gods to witness that this disgrace has
been brought upon her by violence. Progne burns {with rage}, and
contains not her anger; and checking the grief of her sister, she says,
"We must not act in this matter with tears, but with the sword, {and
even} with anything, if {such} thou hast, that can possibly outdo the
sword. I have, sister, prepared myself for every crime! Either, when I
shall have set fire to the royal palace with torches, I will throw the
artful Tereus into the midst of the flames, or with the steel will I cut
away his tongue or his eyes, or the members that have deprived thee of
thy chastity, or by a thousand wounds will I expel his guilty soul {from
his body}. Something tremendous am I prepared for; what it is, I am
still in doubt."

While Progne was uttering such expressions, Ity