of
the desert island Thynias and, spent by weary toil, mounted the shore.
And to them the son of Leto, as he passed from Lycia far away to the
countless folk of the Hyperboreans, appeared; and about his cheeks on
both sides his golden locks flowed in clusters as he moved; in his left
hand he held a silver bow, and on his back was slung a quiver hanging
from his shoulders; and beneath his feet all the island quaked, and the
waves surged high on the beach. Helpless amazement seized them as they
looked; and no one dared to gaze face to face into the fair eyes of the
god. And they stood with heads bowed to the ground; but he, far off,
passed on to the sea through the air; and at length Orpheus spake as
follows, addressing the chiefs:

(ll. 686-693) "Come, let us call this island the sacred isle of Apollo
of the Dawn since he has appeared to all, passing by at dawn; and we
will offer such sacrifices as we can, building an altar on the shore;
and if hereafter he shall grant us a safe return to the Haemonian land,
then will we lay on his altar the thighs of horned goats. And now I
bid you propitiate him with the steam of sacrifice and libations. Be
gracious, O king, be gracious in thy appearing."

(ll. 694-713) Thus he spake, and they straightway built up an altar with
shingle; and over the island they wandered, seeking if haply they could
get a glimpse of a fawn or a wild goat, that often seek their pasture in
the deep wood. And for them Leto's son provided a quarry; and with pious
rites they wrapped in fat the thigh bones of them all and burnt them
on the sacred altar, celebrating Apollo, Lord of Dawn. And round the
burning sacrifice they set up a broad dancing-ring, singing, "All hail
fair god of healing, Phoebus, all hail," and with them Oeagrus' goodly
son began a clear lay on his Bistonian lyre; how once beneath the rocky
ridge of Parnassus he slew with his bow the monster Delphyne, he, still
young and beardless, still rejoicing in his long tresses. Mayst thou be
gracious! Ever, O king, be thy locks unshorn, ever unravaged; for so is
it right. And none but Leto, daughter of Coeus, strokes them with her
dear hands. And often the Corycian nymphs, daughters of Pleistus, took
up the cheering strain crying "Healer"; hence arose this lovely refrain
of the hymn to Phoebus.

(ll. 714-719) Now when they had celebrated him with dance and song they
took an oath with holy libations, that they would ever help each other
with conc