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I sweep the sounding string, While th' Atridæ's praise I sing, Victors on the Trojan plain, Or to Cadmus raise the strain, Hark! in soft and whisper'd sighs, Love's sweet notes the shell replies. Late I strung my harp anew, Changed the strings—the subject too: Loud I sung Alcides' toils, Still the lyre my labour foils; Still with Love's sweet silver sounds Every martial theme confounds.