Chapter_275

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Yea, yet is she pre-eminent, a nation

Of men heroic⁠—but the time would fail

If I should now essay the consecration

To lyre-strings and to song’s soft-rippling gale

Of all that tale,

Lest men’s ears should be overfilled the while

And envy vex us. Let the task yet lying

Before me speed on wings of poesy flying,

Thy due, boy, youngest glory of thine isle.