And in one winning all her woes redeem.
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There as she stood in doubt, a fluting voice
Rose from the flood, ‘Psyche, be not afraid
To hear a reed give tongue, for ’twas of choice
That I from mortal flesh a plant was made.
My name is Syrinx; once from mighty Pan
Into the drowning river as I ran,
A fearful prayer my steps for ever stay’d.
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