Page:The Satire of Seneca on the Apotheosis of Claudius.djvu/148

Ceaselessly they too labored; and bringing the finest of fleeces,
Gayly they filled her hands, for sweet was the duty allotted.
She, in her eagerness, hastened the work, nor was conscious of effort;
Lightly the soft strands fell from the whirling point of her spindle,
Passing the life of Tithonus, passing the lifetime of Nestor.
Phoebus came with his singing, and, happy in anticipation,
Joyously plied the plectrum, or aided the work of the spinners:
Kept their hearts intent, with his song beguiling their labor.
While beyond thought they rejoiced in their brother’s music, their hands spun,
Busily twining a destiny passing all human allotment,
Wrought through the spell of Phoebus’ lyre and his praise, as he bade them:
“Stay not your hands, O Fateful Sisters, but make him a victor
Over the barriers that limit the common lifetime of mortals;
Let him be blessed with a grace and a beauty like mine, and in music
Grant him no meaner gifts. An age of joy shall he bring men