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

But may the good prevail!

Zeus, whosoe'er he be,—if that express

Aught dear to him on whom I call—

So do I him address.

I cannot liken out, by all

Admeasurement of powers,

Any but Zeus for refuge at such hours,

If veritably needs I must

From off my soul its vague care-burthen thrust.

Not—whosoever was the great of yore,

Bursting to bloom with bravery all round—

Is in our mouths: he was, but is no more.