ched the strings, and the wave of song swelled out upon the air
more full and sweet than ever. He sang of the undying gods and the
dark earth, how it was made at the first, and how to each of the gods
his own appointed portion was given, till the heart of Apollo was
filled with a mighty longing, and he spake to Hermes, and said,
"Cattle-reiver, wily rogue, thy song is worth fifty head of cattle.
We will settle our strife by and by. Meanwhile, tell me, was this
wondrous gift of song born with thee, or hast thou it as a gift from
any god or mortal man? Never on Olympos, from those who can not die,
have I heard such strains as these. They who hear thee may have what
they will, be it mirth, or love, or sleep. Great is thy power, and
great shall be thy renown, and by my cornel staff I swear that I will
not stand in the way of thy honor or deceive thee in anywise."

Then said Hermes, "I grudge thee not my skill, son of Leto, for I seek
but thy friendship. Yet thy gifts from Zeus are great. Thou knowest
his mind, thou canst declare his will, and reveal what is stored up in
time to come for undying gods or mortal men. This knowledge I fain
would have. But my power of song shall this day be thine. Take my
lyre, the soother of the wearied, the sweet companion in hours of
sorrow or of feasting. To those who come skilled in its language, it
can discourse sweetly of all things, and drive away all thoughts that
annoy and cares that vex the soul. To those who touch it, not knowing
how to draw forth its speech, it will babble strange nonsense, and
rave with uncertain moanings. But thy knowledge is born with thee, and
so my lyre is thine. Wherefore now let us feed the herds together, and
with our care they shall thrive and multiply. There is no more cause
for anger."

So saying the babe held out the lyre, and Phoebus Apollo took it. In
his turn he gave to the child Hermes a glittering scourge, with charge
over his flocks and herds. Then, touching the chords of the lyre, he
filled the air with sweet music, and they both took their way to
Olympos, and Zeus was glad at heart to see that the wrath of Apollo
had passed away. But Phoebus dreaded yet the wiles of Hermes, and
said, "I fear me much, child of Maia, that in time to come thou mayest
steal both my harp and my bow, and take away my honor among men. Come
now, and swear to me by the dark water of Styx that thou wilt never
do me wrong." Then Hermes bowed his head, and swore never to st