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She found Julia alone in her room, trying on before a mirror her novice's dress; the vail that was to conceal her luxuriant hair was laid upon the bed; she was simply dressed in a long, white woolen tunic, whose folds she was engaged in adjusting. She blushed when she saw her mother come in; then with an insipient laugh: "Cymodocea in the circus, isn't it, mother?"
From far they know their king, and wheel their bands about him, and Cymodocea, their readiest in speech, comes up behind, catching the stern with her right hand: her back rises out, and her left hand oars her passage through the silent water. We are thy fleet, Idaean pines from the holy hill, now nymphs of the sea.
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