Chapter_287

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Fain am I, by the favour of the Graces

Deep-girt, to chant aloud the victory won

By Telesikrates, Kyrene’s son,

At Pytho in the brazen-harnessed races.

His fortune fair I sing, and chant the glory

That crowns the city of the flying car,

Kyrene!⁠—Her Apollo, saith the story,

The bright-haired Son of Leto, caught afar

From Pelion’s dells with echoing winds enfolden,

And bare her thence upon his chariot golden,

That huntress-maid, to where he made her queen

Of flocks and harvests in her wide demesne,

The third part of the great earth’s boundless bosom,

A root of leafage fair and lovely blossom.