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110 But abideth with knowledge, what thing was wrought by Althea's despair;

For she marr'd the life-grace of her son, with ill counsel rekindled the flame

That was quenched as it glowed on the brand, what time from his mother he came,

With the cry of a new-born child; and the brand from the burning she won,

For the Fates had foretold it coeval, in life and in death, with her son.

Yea, and man's hate tells of another, even Scylla of murderous guile,

Who slew for an enemy's sake her father, won o'er by the wile

And the gifts of Cretan Minos, the gauds of the high-wrought gold;

For she clipped from her father's head the lock that should never wax old,

As he breathed in the silence of sleep, and knew not her craft and her crime—

But Hermes, the guard of the dead, doth grasp her, in fulness of time.