But when the force of flame was burning low,
Then did they drench the pyre with ruddy wine,
And the white bones of Corythus bestow
Within a gold cruse, wrought with many a sign,
And wrapp'd the cruse about with linen fine
And bare it to the tomb: when, lo, the wild
OEnone sprang, with burning eyes divine,
And shriek'd unto the slayer of her child:
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