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betwixt the twain the sorrowing sister bore.
But no words move, no lamentations bring
persuasion to his soul; decrees of Fate
oppose, and some wise god obstructs the way
that finds the hero's ear. Oft-times around
the aged strength of some stupendous oak
the rival blasts of wintry Alpine winds
smite with alternate wrath: Ioud is the roar,
and from its rocking top the broken boughs
are strewn along the ground; but to the crag
steadfast it ever clings; far as toward heaven
its giant crest uprears, so deep below
its roots reach down to Tartarus:—not less
the hero by unceasing wail and cry
is smitten sore, and in his mighty heart
has many a pang, while his serene intent
abides unmoved, and tears gush forth in vain.
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