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492

Long since I cared for what thou bid'st me care,

To work out all that on thy need may bear;

And now I pray thee tell

Where he may chance to dwell—

What region is his home?

Not out of season is it this to hear,

Lest he should subtly come,

And unawares fall on me here or there.

Say where does he abide,

What pathway does he travel to and fro?

Do his steps homeward glide,

Or does he tread the paths that outward go?

Thou see'st this cavern open at each end,

With chambers in the rock.

And where is he, that sufferer, absent now?

To me it is full clear

That he in search for food his slow way wends,

Not far off now, but near;

For so, the rumour runs, his life he spends,

With swift-winged arrows smiting down his prey,

Wretched and wretchedly;

And none to him draws nigh,

With power to heal, and charm his grief away.