Chapter_383

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But and if the praise of riches or might of hands or of battleward-sweeping

Steel-clad war-hosts kindle the heart of the bard, let them delve me the ground

For a long leap hence⁠—O yea, for my knees are strung for lightsome leaping.

Ay, an eagle am I, and the eagle’s swoop is beyond the sea-line’s bound.

Yea, for those heroes the welcoming song upon Pelion’s height was sung

By the choir most lovely of Muses nine; and the lyre with seven chords strung

With the golden quill in Apollo’s hand was swept till melodies rung