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 There are times for a mood Corybantic; In season 'tis sweet to be sad; But an art that is constantly frantic Or dismal, is bad.

Our ears have been brutally battered With volleys of virulent sound; Our senses are cruelly shattered With shocks that amaze and astound. O hasten from Pindus or Haemus, Come down, you have lingered too long, Come down, and from Discord redeem us, Dear Sisters of Song! 2em XV N quest of golden cargo brave Jason and his band Upon the good ship Argo sailed to the Colchian strand; But nobler is the story that I would fain unfold Of ships of greater glory, of freights of richer gold.

For the grain ships are sailing, are sailing all the while, Unresting and unfailing from the mouth of Father Nile; 51