(ll. 1-20) I sing of Artemis, whose shafts are of gold, who cheers on
the hounds, the pure maiden, shooter of stags, who delights in archery,
own sister to Apollo with the golden sword. Over the shadowy hills and
windy peaks she draws her golden bow, rejoicing in the chase, and sends
out grievous shafts. The tops of the high mountains tremble and the
tangled wood echoes awesomely with the outcry of beasts: earthquakes
and the sea also where fishes shoal. But the goddess with a bold heart
turns every way destroying the race of wild beasts: and when she is
satisfied and has cheered her heart, this huntress who delights in
arrows slackens her supple bow and goes to the great house of her dear
brother Phoebus Apollo, to the rich land of Delphi, there to order the
lovely dance of the Muses and Graces. There she hangs up her curved bow
and her arrows, and heads and leads the dances, gracefully arrayed,
while all they utter their heavenly voice, singing how neat-ankled Leto
bare children supreme among the immortals both in thought and in deed.
(ll. 21-22) Hail to you, children of Zeus and rich-haired Leto! And now
I will remember you and another song also.