Chapter_372

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But one thing certainly mine heart divineth,

That, whatso excellence Lord Fate designeth

For me, Time’s onward-stealing feet will bring

To its ordained perfection that same thing.

Weave on, O winsome Lyre, make speed in weaving

Thy web of song that shall accordant ring

With Lydian harmony, song-vesture cleaving

Lovingly round Oenone and Cyprus, where,

Far from the ancient home constrained to fare,

An island-king Telamonian Teucer is,

While Aias rules ancestral Salamis;