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Rh  Nor shall thy horns nor thy hoofs Fall to the lot of false Eiddig. Thou shalt be preserved against treachery, With the strength of the arm of Cyhelyn. I will ever welcome thee, Should I live to old age, thou
 * With horns like Eglantine.

that dwellest in the spray, White as yon moon’s calm array, Dust thy beauty ne’er may stain, Sunbeam-gauntlet of the main !