Kind welcome to that chariot-driving band
With gifts and sacrifice they gave
Whom Aristoteles brought to Libyan land
In swift ships o’er the wave,
Cleaving a deep path through the sea, and made
Greater the temple-groves divine,
And for the festival-processions laid
A paved road’s level line
For trampling steeds, and pilgrims magnifying
Apollo, Helper of our race.
There now in death apart is Battus lying
Hard by the market-place.