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Rh It made unbidden feast;

With blood the house was watered,

To household—woe there was no staying:

Great mischief many-slaying!

From God it was—some priest

Of Até, in the house, by nurture thus increased.

At first, then, to the city of Ilion went

A soul, as I might say, of windless calm—

Wealth's quiet ornament,

An eyes'-dart bearing balm,

Love's spirit-biting flower.

But—from the true course bending—

She brought about, of marriage, bitter ending:

Ill-resident, ill-mate, in power