he total globe?
When in full course of time the longed-for day had dawned, all Thessaly
assembled throngs his home, a gladsome company o'erspreading the halls:
they bear gifts to the fore, and their joy in their faces they shew. Scyros
desert remains, they leave Phthiotic Tempe, Crannon's homes, and the
fortressed walls of Larissa; to Pharsalia they hie, 'neath Pharsalian roofs
they gather. None tills the soil, the heifers' necks grow softened, the
trailing vine is not cleansed by the curved rake-prongs, nor does the
sickle prune the shade of the spreading tree-branches, nor does the bullock
up-tear the glebe with the prone-bending ploughshare; squalid rust steals
o'er the neglected ploughs.

But this mansion, throughout its innermost recesses of opulent royalty,
glitters with gleaming gold and with silver. Ivory makes white the seats;
goblets glint on the boards; the whole house delights in the splendour of
royal treasure. Placed in the midst of the mansion is the bridal bed of the
goddess, made glossy with Indian tusks and covered with purple, tinted with
the shell-fish's rosy dye. This tapestry embroidered with figures of men of
ancient time pourtrays with admirable art the heroes' valour. For looking
forth from Dia's beach, resounding with crashing of breakers, Theseus
hasting from sight with swiftest of fleets, Ariadne watches, her heart
swelling with raging passion, nor scarce yet credits she sees what she
sees, as, newly-awakened from her deceptive sleep, she perceives herself,
deserted and woeful, on the lonely shore. But the heedless youth, flying
away, beats the waves with his oars, leaving his perjured vows to the gusty
gales. In the dim distance from amidst the sea-weed, the daughter of Minos
with sorrowful eyes, like a stone-carved Bacchante, gazes afar, alas! gazes
after him, heaving with great waves of grief. No longer does the fragile
fillet bind her yellow locks, no more with light veil is her hidden bosom
covered, no more with rounded zone the milky breasts are clasped; down
fallen from her body everything is scattered, hither, thither, and the salt
waves toy with them in front of her very feet. But neither on fillet nor
floating veil, but on thee, Theseus, in their stead, was she musing: on
thee she bent her heart, her thoughts, her love-lorn mind. Ah, woeful one,
with sorrows unending distraught, Erycina sows thorny cares deep in thy
bosom, since that time when Theseus fierce in his vigour set out from