os nodded, and glorious Hermes obeyed, for
lightly persuadeth the counsel of Zeus of the AEgis.

Then sped both of them, the fair children of Zeus, to sandy Pylos, at the
ford of Alpheius, and to the fields they came, and the stall of lofty
roof, where the booty was tended in the season of darkness. There anon
Hermes went to the side of the rocky cave, and began driving the sturdy
cattle into the light. But the son of Leto, glancing aside, saw the
flayed skins on the high rock, and quickly asked renowned Hermes:

"How wert thou of avail, oh crafty one, to flay two kine; new-born and
childish as thou art? For time to come I dread thy might: no need for
thee to be growing long, thou son of Maia!" {156}

[So spake he, and round his hands twisted strong bands of withes, but
they at his feet were soon intertwined, each with other, and lightly were
they woven over all the kine of the field, by the counsel of thievish
Hermes, but Apollo marvelled at that he saw.]

Then the strong Argus-bane with twinkling glances looked down at the
ground, wishful to hide his purpose. But that harsh son of renowned
Leto, the Far-darter, did he lightly soothe to his will; taking his lyre
in his left hand he tuned it with the _plectrum_: and wondrously it rang
beneath his hand. Thereat Phoebus Apollo laughed and was glad, and the
winsome note passed through to his very soul as he heard. Then Maia's
son took courage, and sweetly harping with his harp he stood at Apollo's
left side, playing his prelude, and thereon followed his winsome voice.
He sang the renowns of the deathless Gods, and the dark Earth, how all
things were at the first, and how each God gat his portion.

To Mnemosyne first of Gods he gave the meed of minstrelsy, to the Mother
of the Muses, for the Muse came upon the Son of Maia.

Then all the rest of the Immortals, in order of rank and birth, did he
honour, the splendid son of Zeus, telling duly all the tale, as he struck
the lyre on his arm. But on Apollo's heart in his breast came the stress
of desire, who spake to him winged words:

"Thou crafty slayer of kine, thou comrade of the feast; thy song is worth
the price of fifty oxen! Henceforth, methinks, shall we be peacefully
made at one. But, come now, tell me this, thou wily Son of Maia, have
these marvels been with thee even since thy birth, or is it that some
immortal, or some mortal man, has given thee the glorious gift and shown
thee song divine? For marvel