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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Close of the Hymn to Delian Apollo

By The Homeric Hymns

Translation of William Cranston Lawton

DEAR all outlooks are unto thee, and the lofty mountains’

Topmost peaks, and the rivers that down to the sea are descending.

More than all, O Phœbus, thy heart is in Delos delighted,

Where in their trailing robes unto thee the Ionians gather,

They themselves and their modest wives as well, and the children.

There they do honor to thee with boxing, dancing, and singing.

So they take their delight, whenever the games are appointed.

One would believe them to be immortal and ageless forever,

Whoso met them, when the Ionians gather together.

Then he the charms of them all would behold, and delight in their spirit,

Seeing the men of the race, and the women gracefully girdled.

Fleet are the vessels they bring as well, and many the treasures.

This is a marvel, too, whose glory never may perish,—

Even the Delian maids, attendant on archer Apollo.

When they first have uttered in hymns their praise of Apollo,

Next is Leto’s turn, and Artemis, hurler of arrows.

Then they remember the heroes of ancient days, and the women,

Singing their hymn; and the tribes of mortal men are enchanted.

Speech of all mankind, and even their castanets’ rattle,

They can mimic, and every man would say that he heard them

Speak his speech; so fairly and well is their minstrelsy fitted.

Come, O Apollo, be thou, together with Artemis, gracious.

Greeting unto you all; and be ye of me hereafter

Mindful, when some other of men that on earth have abiding

Hither may come, an outworn stranger, and ask you the question,

“O ye maidens, and who for you is the sweetest of minstrels,

Whoso hither doth come, in whom ye most are delighted?”

Then do ye all, I pray, with one voice answer and tell him,

“Blind is the man, and in Chios abounding in crags is his dwelling;

He it is whose songs shall all be supreme in the future.”

Yet will I not cease from hymning the archer Apollo,

Lord of the silvern bow, who is offspring of fair-tressed Leto.