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22.

Or pitchers to and fro to bear

To some Pirênê on the hill,

Where the proud water craveth still

Its broken-hearted minister.

.

God guide me yet to Theseus' land,

The gentle land, the famed afar

.

But not the hungry foam—Ah, never!—

Of fierce Eurotas, Helen's river,

To bow to Menelaus' hand,

That wasted Troy with war!

They told us of a land high-born,

Where glimmers round Olympus' roots

A lordly river, red with corn

And burdened fruits.

.

Aye, that were next in my desire

To Athens, where good spirits dwell

.

Or Aetna's breast, the deeps of fire

That front the Tyrian's Citadel:

First mother, she, of Sicily

And mighty mountains: fame hath told

Their crowns of goodness manifold

.

And, close beyond the narrowing sea,

A sister land, where float enchanted

Ionian summits, wave on wave,