The host to expiate next the king prepares, With pure lustrations, and with solemn prayers. Wash’d by the briny wave, the pious train[59] Are cleansed; and cast the ablutions in the main. Along the shore whole hecatombs were laid, And bulls and goats to Phœbus’ altars paid; The sable fumes in curling spires arise, And waft their grateful odours to the skies.