With reins unsnapped through all that hallowed space
Around the courses twelve he swung,
Nor car nor harness brake he in the race,
But dedicate hath hung
On Phoebus’ wall the craftsmen’s masteries
Riding whereon he passed ere then
The hill of Krisa to the plain that lies
In the God’s bosomed glen.
The cypress shrine now hath them in possession
By that self-moulded statue placed
Which Cretan bowmen ’neath the roof Parnassian
Unto the God upraised.