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| Telemachus in the assembly of the lords of Ithaca complains of the |
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| injustice done him by the suitors, and insists upon their |
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| departure from his palace; appealing to the princes, and exciting |
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| the people to declare against them. The suitors endeavour to |
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| justify their stay, at least till he shall send the queen to the |
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| court of Icarius her father; which he refuses. There appears a |
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| prodigy of two eagles in the sky, whick an augur expounds to the |
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| ruin of the suitors. Telemachus the demands a vessel to carry him |
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| to Pylos and Sparta, there to inquire of his father's fortunes. |
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| Pallas, in the shape of Mentor (an ancient friend of Ulysses), |
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| helps him to a ship, assists him in preparing necessaries for the |
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| voyage, and embarks with him that night; which concludes the |
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| second day from the opening of the poem. The scene continues in |
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| the palace of Ulysses, in Ithaca. |
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| Now reddening from the dawn, the morning ray |
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| Glow'd in the front of heaven, and gave the day |
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| The youthful hero, with returning light, |
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| Rose anxious from the inquietudes of night. |
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| A royal robe he wore with graceful pride, |
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| A two-edged falchion threaten'd by his side, |
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| Embroider'd sandals glitter'd as he trod, |
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| And forth he moved, majestic as a god. |
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| Then by his heralds, restless of delay, |
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| To council calls the peers: the peers obey. |
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| Soon as in solemn form the assembly sate, |
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| From his high dome himself descends in state. |
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| Bright in his hand a ponderous javelin shined; |
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| Two dogs, a faithful guard, attend behind; |
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| Pallas with grace divine his form improves, |
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| And gazing crowds admire him as he moves, |
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| 'Twas silence all. At last AEgyptius spoke; |
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| AEgyptius, by his age and sorrow broke; |
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| A length of days his soul with prudence crown'd, |
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| A length of days had bent him to the ground. |
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| His eldest hope in arms to Ilion came, |
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| By great Ulysses taught the path to fame; |
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| But (hapless youth) the hideous Cyclops tore |
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| His quivering limbs, and quaff'd his spouting gore. |
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| Three sons remain'd; to climb with haughty fires |
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| The royal bed, Eurynomus aspires; |
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| The rest with duteous love his griefs assuage, |
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| And ease the sire of half the cares of age. |
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| Yet still his Antiphus he loves, he mourns, |
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| And, as he stood, he spoke and wept by turns, |
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| "Since great Ulysses sought the Phrygian plains, |
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| Within these walls inglorious silence reigns. |
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| Say then, ye peers! by whose commands we meet? |
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| Why here once more in solemn council sit? |
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| Ye young, ye old, the weighty cause disclose: |
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| Arrives some message of invading foes? |
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| Or say, does high necessity of state |
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| Inspire some patriot, and demand debate? |
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| The present synod speaks its author wise; |
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| Assist him, Jove, thou regent of the skies!" |
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| "Reverend old man! lo here confess'd he stands |
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| By whom ye meet; my grief your care demands. |
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| No story I unfold of public woes, |
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| Nor bear advices of impending foes: |
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| Peace the blest land, and joys incessant crown: |
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| Of all this happy realm, I grieve alone. |
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| For my lost sire continual sorrows spring, |
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| The great, the good; your father and your king. |
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| Yet more; our house from its foundation bows, |
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| Our foes are powerful, and your sons the foes; |
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| Hither, unwelcome to the queen, they come; |
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| Why seek they not the rich Icarian dome? |
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| If she must wed, from other hands require |
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| The dowry: is Telemachus her sire? |
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| Yet through my court the noise of revel rings, |
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| And waste the wise frugality of kings. |
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| Scarce all my herds their luxury suffice; |
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| Scarce all my wine their midnight hours supplies. |
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| Safe in my youth, in riot still they grow, |
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| Nor in the helpless orphan dread a foe. |
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| But come it will, the time when manhood grants |
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| More powerful advocates than vain complaints. |
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| Approach that hour! insufferable wrong |
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| Cries to the gods, and vengeance sleeps too long. |
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| Rise then, ye peers! with virtuous anger rise; |
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| Your fame revere, but most the avenging skies. |
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| By all the deathless powers that reign above, |
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| By righteous Themis and by thundering Jove |
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| (Themis, who gives to councils, or denies |
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| Success; and humbles, or confirms the wise), |
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| Rise in my aid! suffice the tears that flow |
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| For my lost sire, nor add new woe to woe. |
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| If e'er he bore the sword to strengthen ill, |
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| Or, having power to wrong, betray'd the will, |
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| On me, on me your kindled wrath assuage, |
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| And bid the voice of lawless riot rage. |
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| If ruin to your royal race ye doom, |
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| Be you the spoilers, and our wealth consume. |
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| Then might we hope redress from juster laws, |
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| And raise all Ithaca to aid our cause: |
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| But while your sons commit the unpunish'd wrong, |
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| You make the arm of violence too strong." |
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| "O insolence of youth! whose tongue affords |
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| Such railing eloquence, and war of words. |
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| Studious thy country's worthies to defame, |
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| Thy erring voice displays thy mother's shame. |
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| Elusive of the bridal day, she gives |
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| Fond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives. |
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| Did not the sun, through heaven's wide azure roll'd, |
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| For three long years the royal fraud behold? |
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| While she, laborious in delusion, spread |
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| The spacious loom, and mix'd the various thread: |
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| Where as to life the wondrous figures rise, |
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| Thus spoke the inventive queen, with artful sighs: |
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| "Thus she: at once the generous train complies, |
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| Nor fraud mistrusts in virtue's fair disguise. |
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| The work she plied; but, studious of delay, |
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| By night reversed the labours of the day. |
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| While thrice the sun his annual journey made, |
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| The conscious lamp the midnight fraud survey'd; |
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| Unheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail; |
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| The fourth her maid unfolds the amazing tale. |
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| We saw, as unperceived we took our stand, |
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| The backward labours of her faithless hand. |
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| Then urged, she perfects her illustrious toils; |
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| A wondrous monument of female wiles! |
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| "But you, O peers! and thou, O prince! give ear |
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| (I speak aloud, that every Greek may hear): |
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| Dismiss the queen; and if her sire approves |
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| Let him espouse her to the peer she loves: |
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| Bid instant to prepare the bridal train, |
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| Nor let a race of princes wait in vain. |
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| Though with a grace divine her soul is blest, |
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| And all Minerva breathes within her breast, |
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| In wondrous arts than woman more renown'd, |
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| And more than woman with deep wisdom crown'd; |
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| Though Tyro nor Mycene match her name, |
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| Not great Alemena (the proud boasts of fame); |
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| Yet thus by heaven adorn'd, by heaven's decree |
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| She shines with fatal excellence, to thee: |
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| With thee, the bowl we drain, indulge the feast, |
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| Till righteous heaven reclaim her stubborn breast. |
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| What though from pole to pole resounds her name! |
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| The son's destruction waits the mother's fame: |
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| For, till she leaves thy court, it is decreed, |
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| Thy bowl to empty and thy flock to bleed." |
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| While yet he speaks, Telemachus replies: |
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| "Ev'n nature starts, and what ye ask denies. |
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| Thus, shall I thus repay a mother's cares, |
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| Who gave me life, and nursed my infant years! |
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| While sad on foreign shores Ulysses treads. |
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| Or glides a ghost with unapparent shades; |
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|
| How to Icarius in the bridal hour |
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| Shall I, by waste undone, refund the dower? |
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|
| How from my father should I vengeance dread! |
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| How would my mother curse my hated head! |
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|
| And while In wrath to vengeful fiends she cries, |
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| How from their hell would vengeful fiends arise! |
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|
| Abhorr'd by all, accursed my name would grow, |
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| The earth's disgrace, and human-kind my foe. |
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| If this displease, why urge ye here your stay? |
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| Haste from the court, ye spoilers, haste away: |
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|
| Waste in wild riot what your land allows, |
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|
| There ply the early feast, and late carouse. |
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|
| But if to honour lost, 'tis still decreed |
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| For you my howl shall flow, my flocks shall bleed; |
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| Judge, and assert my right, impartial Jove! |
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| By him, and all the immortal host above |
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|
| (A sacred oath), if heaven the power supply, |
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|
| Vengeance I vow, and for your wrongs ye die." |
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| With that, two eagles from a mountain's height |
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|
| By Jove's command direct their rapid flight; |
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|
| Swift they descend, with wing to wing conjoin'd, |
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|
| Stretch their broad plumes, and float upon the wind. |
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|
| Above the assembled peers they wheel on high, |
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|
| And clang their wings, and hovering beat the sky; |
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|
| With ardent eyes the rival train they threat, |
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|
| And shrieking loud denounce approaching fate. |
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|
| They cuff, they tear; their cheeks and neck they rend, |
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|
| And from their plumes huge drops of blood descend; |
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|
| Then sailing o'er the domes and towers, they fly, |
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|
| Full toward the east, and mount into the sky. |
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|
| "Ye sons (he cried) of Ithaca, give ear; |
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| Hear all! but chiefly you, O rivals! hear. |
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|
| Destruction sure o'er all your heads impends |
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|
| Ulysses comes, and death his steps attends. |
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|
| Nor to the great alone is death decreed; |
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|
| We and our guilty Ithaca must bleed. |
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|
| Why cease we then the wrath of heaven to stay? |
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|
| Be humbled all, and lead, ye great! the way. |
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|
| For lo? my words no fancied woes relate; |
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|
| I speak from science and the voice of fate. |
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|
| To whom Eurymachus—"Fly, dotard fly, |
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|
| With thy wise dreams, and fables of the sky. |
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|
| Go prophesy at home, thy sons advise: |
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|
| Here thou art sage in vain—I better read the skies |
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|
| Unnumber'd birds glide through the aerial way; |
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|
| Vagrants of air, and unforeboding stray. |
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|
| Cold in the tomb, or in the deeps below, |
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|
| Ulysses lies; oh wert thou laid as low! |
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|
| Then would that busy head no broils suggest, |
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|
| For fire to rage Telemachus' breast, |
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|
| From him some bribe thy venal tongue requires, |
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|
| And interest, not the god, thy voice inspires. |
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|
| His guideless youth, if thy experienced age |
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|
| Mislead fallacious into idle rage, |
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|
| Vengeance deserved thy malice shall repress. |
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|
| And but augment the wrongs thou would'st redress, |
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|
| Telemachus may bid the queen repair |
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|
| To great Icarius, whose paternal care |
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|
| Will guide her passion, and reward her choice |
|
|
| With wealthy dower, and bridal gifts of price. |
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|
| Till she retires, determined we remain, |
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|
| And both the prince and augur threat in vain: |
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|
| His pride of words, and thy wild dream of fate, |
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|
| Move not the brave, or only move their hate, |
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|
| Threat on, O prince! elude the bridal day. |
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|
| Threat on, till all thy stores in waste decay. |
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|
| True, Greece affords a train of lovely dames, |
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|
| In wealth and beauty worthy of our flames: |
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|
| But never from this nobler suit we cease; |
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|
| For wealth and beauty less than virtue please." |
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|
|
|
| To whom the youth: "Since then in vain I tell |
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|
| My numerous woes, in silence let them dwell. |
|
|
| But Heaven, and all the Greeks, have heard my wrongs; |
|
|
| To Heaven, and all the Greeks, redress belongs; |
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|
| Yet this I ask (nor be it ask'd in vain), |
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|
| A bark to waft me o'er the rolling main, |
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|
| The realms of Pyle and Sparta to explore, |
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|
| And seek my royal sire from shore to shore; |
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|
| If, or to fame his doubtful fate be known, |
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|
| Or to be learn'd from oracles alone, |
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|
| If yet he lives, with patience I forbear, |
|
|
| Till the fleet hours restore the circling year; |
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|
| But if already wandering in the train |
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|
| Of empty shades, I measure back the main, |
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|
| Plant the fair column o'er the mighty dead, |
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|
| And yield his consort to the nuptial bed." |
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|
|
| He ceased; and while abash'd the peers attend, |
|
|
| Mentor arose, Ulysses' faithful friend: |
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|
| (When fierce in arms he sought the scenes of war, |
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|
| "My friend (he cried), my palace be thy care; |
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|
| Years roll'd on years my godlike sire decay, |
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|
| Guard thou his age, and his behests obey." |
|
|
| Stern as he rose, he cast his eyes around, |
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|
| That flash'd with rage; and as spoke, he frown'd, |
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|
|
| "O never, never more let king be just, |
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|
| Be mild in power, or faithful to his trust! |
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|
| Let tyrants govern with an iron rod, |
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|
| Oppress, destroy, and be the scourge of God; |
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|
| Since he who like a father held his reign, |
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|
| So soon forgot, was just and mild in vain! |
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|
| True, while my friend is grieved, his griefs I share; |
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|
| Yet now the rivals are my smallest care: |
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|
| They for the mighty mischiefs they devise, |
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|
| Ere long shall pay—their forfeit lives the price. |
|
|
| But against you, ye Greeks! ye coward train! |
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|
| Gods! how my soul is moved with just disdain! |
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|
| Dumb ye all stand, and not one tongue affords |
|
|
| His injured prince the little aid of words." |
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|
|
|
| While yet he spoke, Leocritus rejoined: |
|
|
| "O pride of words, and arrogance of mind! |
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|
| Would'st thou to rise in arms the Greeks advise? |
|
|
| Join all your powers? in arms, ye Greeks, arise! |
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|
| Yet would your powers in vain our strength oppose. |
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|
| The valiant few o'ermatch a host of foes. |
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|
| Should great Ulysses stern appear in arms, |
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|
| While the bowl circles and the banquet warms; |
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|
| Though to his breast his spouse with transport flies, |
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|
| Torn from her breast, that hour, Ulysses dies. |
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|
| But hence retreating to your domes repair. |
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|
| To arm the vessel, Mentor! be thy care, |
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|
| And Halitherses! thine: be each his friend; |
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|
| Ye loved the father: go, the son attend. |
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|
| But yet, I trust, the boaster means to stay |
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|
| Safe in the court, nor tempt the watery way." |
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|
|
|
| "O prince, in early youth divinely wise, |
|
|
| Born, the Ulysses of thy age to rise |
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|
| If to the son the father's worth descends, |
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|
| O'er the wide wave success thy ways attends |
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|
| To tread the walks of death he stood prepared; |
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|
| And what he greatly thought, he nobly dared. |
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|
| Were not wise sons descendant of the wise, |
|
|
| And did not heroes from brave heroes rise, |
|
|
| Vain were my hopes : few sons attain the praise |
|
|
| Of their great sires, and most their sires disgrace. |
|
|
| But since thy veins paternal virtue fires, |
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|
| And all Penelope thy soul inspires, |
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|
| Go, and succeed : the rivals' aims despise; |
|
|
| For never, never wicked man was wise. |
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|
| Blind they rejoice, though now, ev'n now they fall; |
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|
| Death hastes amain : one hour o'erwhelms them all! |
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|
| And lo, with speed we plough the watery way; |
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|
| My power shall guard thee, and my hand convey: |
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|
| The winged vessel studious I prepare, |
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|
| Through seas and realms companion of thy care. |
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|
| Thou to the court ascend : and to the shores |
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|
| (When night advances) bear the naval stores; |
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|
| Bread, that decaying man with strength supplies, |
|
|
| And generous wine, which thoughtful sorrow flies. |
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|
| Meanwhile the mariners, by my command, |
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|
| Shall speed aboard, a valiant chosen band. |
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|
| Wide o'er the bay, by vessel vessel rides; |
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|
| The best I choose to waft then o'er the tides." |
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|
|
| "Is this (returns the prince) for mirth a time? |
|
|
| When lawless gluttons riot, mirth's a crime; |
|
|
| The luscious wines, dishonour'd, lose their taste; |
|
|
| The song is noise, and impious is the feast. |
|
|
| Suffice it to have spent with swift decay |
|
|
| The wealth of kings, and made my youth a prey. |
|
|
| But now the wise instructions of the sage, |
|
|
| And manly thoughts inspired by manly age, |
|
|
| Teach me to seek redress for all my woe, |
|
|
| Here, or in Pyle—in Pyle, or here, your foe. |
|
|
| Deny your vessels, ye deny in vain: |
|
|
| A private voyager I pass the main. |
|
|
| Free breathe the winds, and free the billows flow; |
|
|
| And where on earth I live, I live your foe." |
|
|
|
|
| "Or who can say (his gamesome mate replies) |
|
|
| But, while the danger of the deeps he tries |
|
|
| He, like his sire, may sink deprived of breath, |
|
|
| And punish us unkindly by his death? |
|
|
| What mighty labours would he then create, |
|
|
| To seize his treasures, and divide his state, |
|
|
| The royal palace to the queen convey, |
|
|
| Or him she blesses in the bridal day!" |
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|
|
|
| Meantime the lofty rooms the prince surveys, |
|
|
| Where lay the treasures of the Ithacian race: |
|
|
| Here ruddy brass and gold refulgent blazed; |
|
|
| There polished chests embroider'd vestures graced; |
|
|
| Here jars of oil breathed forth a rich perfume; |
|
|
| There casks of wine in rows adorn'd the dome |
|
|
| (Pure flavorous wine, by gods in bounty given |
|
|
| And worthy to exalt the feasts of heaven). |
|
|
| Untouch'd they stood, till, his long labours o'er, |
|
|
| The great Ulysses reach'd his native shore. |
|
|
| A double strength of bars secured the gates; |
|
|
| Fast by the door the wise Euryclea waits; |
|
|
| Euryclea, who great Ops! thy lineage shared, |
|
|
| And watch'd all night, all day, a faithful guard. |
|
|
|
|
| To whom the prince: "O thou whose guardian care |
|
|
| Nursed the most wretched king that breathes the air; |
|
|
| Untouch'd and sacred may these vessels stand, |
|
|
| Till great Ulysses views his native land. |
|
|
| But by thy care twelve urns of wine be fill'd; |
|
|
| Next these in worth, and firm these urns be seal'd; |
|
|
| And twice ten measures of the choicest flour |
|
|
| Prepared, are yet descends the evening hour. |
|
|
| For when the favouring shades of night arise, |
|
|
| And peaceful slumbers close my mother's eyes, |
|
|
| Me from our coast shall spreading sails convey, |
|
|
| To seek Ulysses through the watery way." |
|
|
|
|
| While yet he spoke, she fill'd the walls with cries, |
|
|
| And tears ran trickling from her aged eyes. |
|
|
| "O whither, whither flies my son (she cried) |
|
|
| To realms; that rocks and roaring seas divide? |
|
|
| In foreign lands thy father's days decay'd. |
|
|
| And foreign lands contain the mighty dead. |
|
|
| The watery way ill-fated if thou try, |
|
|
| All, all must perish, and by fraud you die! |
|
|
| Then stay, my, child! storms beat, and rolls the main, |
|
|
| Oh, beat those storms, and roll the seas in vain!" |
|
|
|
|
| Thus he. The matron with uplifted eyes |
|
|
| Attests the all-seeing sovereign of the skies. |
|
|
| Then studious she prepares the choicest flour, |
|
|
| The strength of wheat and wines an ample store. |
|
|
| While to the rival train the prince returns, |
|
|
| The martial goddess with impatience burns; |
|
|
| Like thee, Telemachus, in voice and size, |
|
|
| With speed divine from street to street she flies, |
|
|
| She bids the mariners prepared to stand, |
|
|
| When night descends, embodied on the strand. |
|
|
| Then to Noemon swift she runs, she flies, |
|
|
| And asks a bark: the chief a bark supplies. |
|
|
|
|
| Next, to the court, impatient of delay. |
|
|
| With rapid step the goddess urged her way; |
|
|
| There every eye with slumberous chains she bound, |
|
|
| And dash'd the flowing goblet to the ground. |
|
|
| Drowsy they rose, with heavy fumes oppress'd, |
|
|
| Reel'd from the palace, and retired to rest. |
|
|
| Then thus, in Mentor's reverend form array'd, |
|
|
| Spoke to Telemachus the martial maid. |
|
|
| "Lo! on the seas, prepared the vessel stands, |
|
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| The impatient mariner thy speed demands." |
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| Swift as she spoke, with rapid pace she leads; |
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| The footsteps of the deity he treads. |
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| Swift to the shore they move along the strand; |
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| The ready vessel rides, the sailors ready stand. |
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| He bids them bring their stores; the attending train |
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| Load the tall bark, and launch into the main, |
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| The prince and goddess to the stern ascend; |
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| To the strong stroke at once the rowers bend. |
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| Full from the west she bids fresh breezes blow; |
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| The sable billows foam and roar below. |
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| The chief his orders gives; the obedient band |
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| With due observance wait the chief's command; |
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| With speed the mast they rear, with speed unbind |
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| The spacious sheet, and stretch it to the wind. |
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| High o'er the roaring waves the spreading sails |
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| Bow the tall mast, and swell before the gales; |
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| The crooked keel the parting surge divides, |
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| And to the stern retreating roll the tides. |
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| And now they ship their oars, and crown with wine |
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| The holy goblet to the powers divine: |
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| Imploring all the gods that reign above, |
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| But chief the blue-eyed progeny of Jove. |
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