  She lay by the river dead, A broken reed in her hand, The nymph whom an idle god had wed And led from her maidenland. The god was the great god, Jove. Two notes would the bent reed blow, The one was sorrow, the other love, Enwove with a woman's woe. She lay by the river dead, And he at feasting forgot. The gods, shall they be disquieted By dread of a mortal's lot? |
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