(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 seawards and havens of the
sea are your delight. Shall I sing how at the first Leto bare you to be
the joy of men, as she rested against Mount Cynthus in that rocky isle,
in sea-girt Delos—while on either hand a dark wave rolled on landwards
driven by shrill winds—whence arising you rule over all mortal men?
(ll. 30-50) Among those who are in Crete, and in the township of
Athens, and in the isle of Aegina and Euboea, famous for ships, in
Aegae and Eiresiae and Peparethus near the sea, in Thracian Athos and
Pelion’s towering heights and Thracian Samos and the shady hills of
Ida, in Scyros and Phocaea and the high hill of Autocane and fair-lying
Imbros and smouldering Lemnos and rich Lesbos, home of Macar, the son
of Aeolus, and Chios, brightest of all the isles that lie in the sea,
and craggy Mimas and the heights of Corycus and gleaming Claros and the
sheer hill of Aesagea and watered Samos and the steep heights of
Mycale, in Miletus and Cos, the city of Meropian men, and steep Cnidos
and windy Carpathos, in Naxos and Paros and rocky Rhenaea—so far roamed
Leto in travail with the god who shoots afar, to see if any land would
be willing to make a dwelling for her son. But they greatly trembled
and feared, and none, not even the richest of them, dared receive
Phoebus, until queenly Leto set foot on Delos and uttered winged words
and asked her:
(ll. 51-61) ‘Delos, if you would be willing to be the abode of my son
Phoebus Apollo and make him a rich temple—; for no other will touch
you, as you will find: and I think you will never be rich in oxen and
sheep, nor bear vintage nor yet produce plants abundantly. But if you
have the temple of far-shooting Apollo, all men will bring you
hecatombs and gather here, and incessant savour of rich sacrifice will
always arise, and you will feed those who dwell in you from the hand of
strangers; for truly your own soil is not rich.’
(ll. 62-82) So spake Leto. And Delos rejoiced and answered and said:
‘Leto, most glorious daughter of great Coeus, joyfully would I receive
your child the far-shooting lord; for it is all too true that I am
ill-spoken of among men, whereas thus I should become very greatly
honoured. But this saying I fear, and I will not hide it from you,
Leto. They say that Apollo will be one that is very haughty and will
greatly lord it among gods and men all over the fruitful earth.
Therefore, I greatly fear in heart and spirit that as soon as he sets
the light of the sun, he will scorn this island—for truly I have but a
hard, rocky soil—and overturn me and thrust me down with his feet in
the depths of the sea; then will the great ocean wash deep above my
head for ever, and he will go to another land such as will please him,
there to make his temple and wooded groves. So, many-footed creatures
of the sea will make their lairs in me and black seals their dwellings
undisturbed, because I lack people. Yet if you will but dare to sware a
great oath, goddess, that here first he will build a glorious temple to
be an oracle for men, then let him afterwards make temples and wooded
groves amongst all men; for surely he will be greatly renowned.’
(ll. 83-88) So said Delos. And Leto sware the great oath of the gods:
‘Now hear this, Earth and wide Heaven above, and dropping water of Styx
(this is the strongest and most awful oath for the blessed gods),
surely Phoebus shall have here his fragrant altar and precinct, and you
he shall honour above all.’
(ll. 89-101) Now when Leto had sworn and ended her oath, Delos was very
glad at the birth of the far-shooting lord. But Leto was racked nine
days and nine nights with pangs beyond wont. And there were with her
all the chiefest of the goddesses, Dione and Rhea and Ichnaea and
Themis and loud-moaning Amphitrite and the other deathless goddesses
save white-armed Hera, who sat in the halls of cloud-gathering Zeus.
Only Eilithyia, goddess of sore travail, had not heard of Leto’s
trouble, for she sat on the top of Olympus beneath golden clouds by
white-armed Hera’s contriving, who kept her close through envy, because
Leto with the lovely tresses was soon to bear a son faultless and
strong.
(ll. 102-114) But the goddesses sent out Iris from the well-set isle to
bring Eilithyia, promising her a great necklace strung with golden
threads, nine cubits long. And they bade Iris call her aside from
white-armed Hera, lest she might afterwards turn her from coming with
her words. When swift Iris, fleet of foot as the wind, had heard all
this, she set to run; and quickly finishing all the distance she came
to the home of the gods, sheer Olympus, and forthwith called Eilithyia
out from the hall to the door and spoke winged words to her, telling
her all as the goddesses who dwell on Olympus had bidden her. So she
moved the heart of Eilithyia in her dear breast; and they went their
way, like shy wild-doves in their going.
(ll. 115-122) And as soon as Eilithyia the goddess of sore travail set
foot on Delos, the pains of birth seized Leto, and she longed to bring
forth; so she cast her arms about a palm tree and kneeled on the soft
meadow while the earth laughed for joy beneath. Then the child leaped
forth to the light, and all the goddesses washed you purely and cleanly
with sweet water, and swathed you in a white garment of fine texture,
new-woven, and fastened a golden band about you.
(ll. 123-130) Now Leto did not give Apollo, bearer of the golden blade,
her breast; but Themis duly poured nectar and ambrosia with her divine
hands: and Leto was glad because she had borne a strong son and an
archer. But as soon as you had tasted that divine heavenly food, O
Phoebus, you could no longer then be held by golden cords nor confined
with bands, but all their ends were undone. Forthwith Phoebus Apollo
spoke out among the deathless goddesses:
(ll. 131-132) ‘The lyre and the curved bow shall ever be dear to me,
and I will declare to men the unfailing will of Zeus.’
(ll. 133-139) So said Phoebus, the long-haired god who shoots afar and
began to walk upon the wide-pathed earth; and all goddesses were amazed
at him. Then with gold all Delos was laden, beholding the child of Zeus
and Leto, for joy because the god chose her above the islands and shore
to make his dwelling in her: and she loved him yet more in her heart,
and blossomed as does a mountain-top with woodland flowers.
(ll. 140-164) And you, O lord Apollo, god of the silver bow, shooting
afar, now walked on craggy Cynthus, and now kept wandering about the
island and the people in them. Many are your temples and wooded groves,
and all peaks and towering bluffs of lofty mountains and rivers flowing
to the sea are dear to you, Phoebus, yet in Delos do you most delight
your heart; for there the long robed Ionians gather in your honour with
their children and shy wives: mindful, they delight you with boxing and
dancing and song, so often as they hold their gathering. A man would
say that they were deathless and unageing if he should then come upon
the Ionians so met together. For he would see the graces of them all,
and would be pleased in heart gazing at the men and well-girded women
with their swift ships and great wealth. And there is this great wonder
besides—and its renown shall never perish—the girls of Delos,
hand-maidens of the Far-shooter; for when they have praised Apollo
first, and also Leto and Artemis who delights in arrows, they sing a
strain telling of men and women of past days, and charm the tribes of
men. Also they can imitate the tongues of all men and their clattering
speech: each would say that he himself were singing, so close to truth
is their sweet song.
(ll. 165-178) And now may Apollo be favourable and Artemis; and
farewell all you maidens. Remember me in after time whenever any one of
men on earth, a stranger who has seen and suffered much, comes here and
asks of you: ‘Whom think ye, girls, is the sweetest singer that comes
here, and in whom do you most delight?’ Then answer, each and all, with
one voice: ‘He is a blind man, and dwells in rocky Chios: his lays are
evermore supreme.’ As for me, I will carry your renown as far as I roam
over the earth to the well-placed this thing is true. And I will never
cease to praise far-shooting Apollo, god of the silver bow, whom
rich-haired Leto bare.