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vv. 1194–1209. Hath it missed or struck, mine arrow? Am I a poor

Dreamer, that begs and babbles at the door?

Give first thine oath in witness, that I know

Of this great dome the sins wrought long ago.

And how should oath of mine, though bravely sworn,

Appease thee? Yet I marvel that one born

Far over seas, of alien speech, should fall

So apt, as though she had lived here and seen all.

The Seer Apollo made me too to see.

Was the God's heart pierced with desire for thee?

Time was, I held it shame hereof to speak.

Ah, shame is for the mighty, not the weak.

We wrestled, and his breath to me was sweet.

Ye came to the getting of children, as is meet?

I swore to Loxias, and I swore a lie.

Already thine the gift of prophecy?