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Chorus
I have come here to the prints of ancient feet, my mother's, even to the region where she was watched while she browsed among the flowers— [540] into that pasture, from which Io, tormented by the gad-fly's sting, fled in frenzy, traversing many tribes of men, and [545] according to fate, cut in two the surging strait, marking off the land upon the farther shore.

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