“Theria, daughter of Delphi, begone from my tripod!
No priestess of mine art thou.
No voice of Apollo can enter thy mind close-guarded with reason,
Begone! Begone!”
Theria cowered before that voice, crouching to the earth.
But the god spoke on, almost tenderly, as to a frightened child:
“Nay, cower not, my maiden, my bow shall not hurt thee.
Nay, for I love thee. Hast thou not sung at my bidding
Hymns for my glory, songs which I to thy spirit
Breathed and created?”