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From Anacreon

ODE I.
Sing the old Atridæ!
Sing, my Lyre, of Cadmus.
But the Lyre, refusing,
Only sang of Love.
Strings and Lyre I changed—to
Chaunt of great Alcides.
Still the Lyre responded
Nought but notes of Love.
Farewell! then—to heroes;—
For what time remains me—
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