And for them Leto's son provided a quarry; and with pious rites they wrapped in fat the thigh bones of them all and burnt them on the sacred altar, celebrating Apollo, Lord of Dawn.

And round the burning sacrifice they set up a broad dancing-ring, singing, "All hail fair god of healing, Phoebus, all hail," and with them Oeagrus' goodly son began a clear lay on his Bistonian lyre; how once beneath the rocky ridge of Parnassus he slew with his bow the monster Delphyne, he, still young and beardless, still rejoicing in his long tresses.

Mayst thou be gracious! Ever, O king, be thy locks unshorn, ever unravaged; for so is it right.

And none but Leto, daughter of Coeus, strokes them with her dear hands.

And often the Corycian nymphs, daughters of Pleistus, took up the cheering strain crying "Healer"; hence arose this lovely refrain of the hymn to Phoebus.
(ll.