Upon the holy threshold, and with shrieks

And vows unceasing called upon the names

Of those whom mortals supplicate. Nor all

Lay in the Thunderer's fane: at every shrine

Some prayers are offered which refused shall bring

Reproach on heaven. One whose livid arms

Were dark with blows, whose cheeks with tears bedewed

And riven, cried, "Beat, mothers, beat the breast,

(Editor：love)