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146 The Pythian hymn that now I weave

For Aristomenes receive;

Since well thou know'st thine active aid to lend,

Or mildly to the fit occasion bend.

When ruthless anger fills the breast,

Severe and hostile to the foe,

Thy power soon lays the storm to rest,

And plunges in the wave below.

Thee, ere he felt the deadly stroke,

Reckless Porphyrion dared provoke;

But learn'd at length the dearest gain

From willing owners to obtain.

And she by her superior strength

The boaster's pride o'ercame at length.

Her nor Cilician Typho fled,

That dire and monstrous hundred-head.

Nor he who ruled the giant brood:

For by the lightning's deadly blow,

And arrows of Apollo's bow,

Were the rebellious tribe subdued.

'Twas he that with propitious mind

Received Xenarces' son,

From Cirrha's walls, his brows entwined

With the Parnassian bays in Doric triumph won.

And not, as by the Graces scorn'd,

Have Æacus' bright race adorn'd