e conduct of her rites and taught them all her mysteries,
to Triptolemus and Polyxeinus and Diocles also,--awful mysteries which
no one may in any way transgress or pry into or utter, for deep awe of
the gods checks the voice. Happy is he among men upon earth who has seen
these mysteries; but he who is uninitiate and who has no part in them,
never has lot of like good things once he is dead, down in the darkness
and gloom.

(ll. 483-489) But when the bright goddess had taught them all, they
went to Olympus to the gathering of the other gods. And there they dwell
beside Zeus who delights in thunder, awful and reverend goddesses. Right
blessed is he among men on earth whom they freely love: soon they do
send Plutus as guest to his great house, Plutus who gives wealth to
mortal men.

(ll. 490-495) And now, queen of the land of sweet Eleusis and sea-girt
Paros and rocky Antron, lady, giver of good gifts, bringer of seasons,
queen Deo, be gracious, you and your daughter all beauteous Persephone,
and for my song grant me heart-cheering substance. And now I will
remember you and another song also.

III. TO APOLLO (546 lines)

TO DELIAN APOLLO--

(ll. 1-18) I will remember and not be unmindful of Apollo who shoots
afar. As he goes through the house of Zeus, the gods tremble before him
and all spring up from their seats when he draws near, as he bends his
bright bow. But Leto alone stays by the side of Zeus who delights in
thunder; and then she unstrings his bow, and closes his quiver, and
takes his archery from his strong shoulders in her hands and hangs them
on a golden peg against a pillar of his father's house. Then she leads
him to a seat and makes him sit: and the Father gives him nectar in a
golden cup welcoming his dear son, while the other gods make him sit
down there, and queenly Leto rejoices because she bare a mighty son and
an archer. Rejoice, blessed Leto, for you bare glorious children, the
lord Apollo and Artemis who delights in arrows; her in Ortygia, and him
in rocky Delos, as you rested against the great mass of the Cynthian
hill hard by a palm-tree by the streams of Inopus.

(ll. 19-29) How, then, shall I sing of you who in all ways are a worthy
theme of song? For everywhere, O Phoebus, the whole range of song is
fallen to you, both over the mainland that rears heifers and over the
isles. All mountain-peaks and high headlands of lofty hills and rivers
flowing out to the deep and beaches sloping s