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Rh And cowering beast,

Brood and all, ere the birth: she hates the eagles' feast.

Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!

But may the good prevail!

Thus ready is the beauteous one with help

To those small dew-drop things fierce lions whelp,

And udder-loving litter of each brute

That roams the mead; and therefore makes she suit,

The fair one, for fulfilment to the end

Of things these signs portend—

Which partly smile, indeed, but partly scowl—

The phantasms of the fowl.

I call Ieïos Paian to avert

She work the Danaoi hurt