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'Twas thus Æneas knew the queen of love, Majestic moving thro' the golden grove.

But ah! how cruel is my lot,

To doat on one so heavenly fair ; For in my humble state forgot,

Each charm but adds to my despair. The tuneful fwan thus faintly warbling lies, Looks on his mate, and while he fings, he dies.

Τ Η Ε Ε Ν D.

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