“How hath the laurel shoot of Apollo heaved! How the whole of the shrine! Afar, afar be ye, sinners. Now verily doth Phœbus knock at the doors with beauteous foot. See you not? The Delian palm has nodded in a pleasant fashion on a sudden, and the swan sings sweetly on the air. Now of your own accord fall back, ye bolts of the doors, and of yourselves, ye bars. For no longer is the god afar off. Make ready, ye young men, for the song and the choir. Not to every one doth Apollo manifest himself, but to only the good. Whoso shall have seen him, great is he; small that man who hath not seen him. “We shall behold thee, O Fardarter! and shall be no more of small account. Nor silent lyre, nor noiseless tread should the servants of Phœbus have, when he sojourns among them. Listen and keep holy silence at the song in honor of Apollo. ... “Golden are both the garment and the clasp of Apollo, his lyre, his Lyctian bow, and his quiver: golden, too, his sandals; for Apollo is rich in gold, and has also many possessions. ... “And indeed he is ever beauteous, ever young. ... “Great, too, in art is no one so much as Apollo. “To Phœbus the care of the bow as well as of song is intrusted. “To him, likewise, belong divinations and diviners: and from Phœbus physicians have learned the art of delaying death. ... “And following Phœbus men are wont to measure out cities. For Phœbus ever delights in founding cities and Phœbus himself lays their foundations.”