On the Hellenics -

Come back, ye wandering Muses, come back home,
Ye seem to have forgotten where it lies:
Come, let us walk upon the silent sands
Of Simois, where deep footmarks show long strides;
Thence we may mount perhaps to higher ground,
Where Aphrodite from Athene won
The golden apple, and from Here too,
And happy Ares shouted far below.
Or would ye rather choose the grassy vale
Where flows Anapos thro anemones,
Hyacynths, and narcissuses, that bend
To show their rival beauty in the stream?
Bring with you each her lyre, and each in turn
Temper a graver with a lighter song.
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