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By dint of bit-violence bridling speech.
And as to ground her saffron-vest she shed,
She smote the sacrificers all and each
With arrow sweet and piteous,
From the eye only sped, --
Significant of will to use a word,
Just as in pictures: since, full many a time,
In her sire's guest-hall, by the well-heaped board
Had she made music, -- lovingly with chime
Of her chaste voice, that unpolluted thing,
Honoured the third libation, -- paian that should bring
Good fortune to the sire she loved so well.
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