Chapter_199

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Covet not thou, O my soul, to live

The Immortals’ life! Let us use as we may

The means that Fate to our hands shall give.

Yet, if Cheiron the wise in his cave this day

Dwelt, and our honey-sweet songs might lay

On his spirit a spell that his will might bend,

I had won on him then some healer to send

To deliver from feverous pains my friend,

Such an one as Asklepius Apollo’s son.

O’er Ionian waters voyaging

Oh then had I reached Arethusa’s spring,

And to Etna’s ruler, mine host, had I gone,