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MELEAGER.

:::Book VII., Epigram 182.

At the bride's gates the lotos flutes were sounding
All yesterday, doors swinging to and fro.
This morn for Clearista all are weeping.
Their song of Hymen changed to dirge of woe.

Her bridegroom, Death; she'll have no other wedding.
For him she looseneth her virgin zone.
The very torches for her bridal burning.
Shall light her trembling feet to Acheron.

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