Chapter_42

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And in that chase he looked upon the land

That sheltered lies behind the North-wind cold,

And saw its olive-trees. There did he stand

And marvelled to behold,

And dearly yearned to enring with those same trees

The goal round which twelve times swift horses strain.

Graciously still to these festivities

He comes: with him be godlike presences,

Even Leda’s scions twain.