Chapter_478

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The singers of old, Thrasybulus, who mounted the car of the Queens of Song,

The golden-tired, giving voice to the ringing lyre and the tuneful tongue,

Shot lightly the arrows of honey-sweet strains in the fair one’s praise,

Whosoever by bright summer-bloom of lovely form and face

Stirred hearts to dream upon splendour-throned Aphrodite’s grace.