Chapter_261

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That treasure no rain-storm, hurling

Its pitiless hosts from the cloud

Amid thunders crashing loud

Shall sweep to abysses of sea

By the storm-wind with shingle-drift swirling;

But the porch of our treasury

In brightness unsullied shall flame, it

Shall publish the triumph afar,

Thrasybulus, won by thy car

In Krisa; and men shall acclaim it

For thy sire and thy kindred, shall name it

Their glory, their splendour-star.