Chapter_354

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O queenly Muse, our mother, hitherward come, I pray,

When the holy Moon brings round the Nemean festal day,

To Aegina the guest-thronged Dorian isle. Where the ripples are sliding

Of Asopian waves, young craftsmen of songs honey-savoured, abiding

Thy coming, are longing to hear thy voice’s great song-burden!

Sooth, diverse deeds ever thirst for many a diverse guerdon,

But victory in these Games above all things loveth Song

Meetest companion of crowns and of triumphs achieved by the strong.