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That his eye-brows dark and sad,That his grief that never ceases

When the wheels were rattling,Wheel on wheel tow'rd the goal,High aroseThe sound of the lashOf youths with victory glowing,In the dust rolling,As from the mountain fallShowers of stones in the vale--Then thy soul was brightly glowing, Pindar--Glowing? Poor heart!

Through gloomy thicketsPresseth the wild deer on,And with the sparrowsLong have the wealthySettled themselves in the marsh.