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No more shall you mount behind a pair of Enetic horses and take the race-course about the Mere with the feet of your racing steeds.  The music that never slept beneath the frame of the lyre-strings shall cease in your father's house. Bare of garlands will be the resting-places of Leto's daughter in the deep greenwood.  The rivalry of maidens to be your bride has been brought to an end by your exile.