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 I have heard with my own ears how our Phrygian guest, the daughter of Tantalus, perished  in so much suffering on steep Sipylus—how, like clinging ivy, the sprouting stone subdued her. And the rains, as men tell, do not leave her melting form, nor does the snow,  but beneath her weeping lids she dampens her collar. Most like hers is the god-sent fate that leads me to my rest.
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