that they have of revelation. First in her prayer is mentioned Earth, the primeval prophetess; then Themis, who next held the sacred seat; then Phœbe, another daughter of Earth, who gave to Phœbus Apollo his office and his name. Having done due honour to the local deities, the priestess calls on Pallas, and Bacchus, and Poseidon, and on Zeus, and then enters to take her seat upon the inspiring tripod, that she may give responses to any who may consult the god. And so she goes through the great folding-doors into the temple. Very few of mankind have entered that sacred chapel: there hang the offerings of great kings and sages, who have, during ages past, gained answers from Apollo; there the bright god himself vouchsafes his special presence; there is the Omphalos, or navel-stone, which is believed to be the very centre of the earth.
But the priestess rushes forth again in an agony of terror. She has seen a portentous sight, for at the Omphalos itself a man is sitting in suppliant guise;
"His hands still dripping gore,
His sword new-drawn, his lofty olive-branch
With ample fillets piously enwreathed,
White bands of wool;"
and behind him is a wondrous company of women sleeping—or rather, women they cannot be called, for no gorgons nor harpies are so hideous. The sound of their breathing, the loathsome aspect of their faces, and the filthiness of their dress, all combine to make their very presence a pollution to a temple, or even to the
