As they welcome the Day’s car for mortals.
And the wilderness myrrh to Apollo’s high roof
Curls fragrant and dim,
And from tripod divine now the Delphian dread
For the Hellenes intones with oracular cries
What Apollo proclaims from his portals.
“Up, ye Delphians all who to Phœbus give aid!
To Castalian fount with its silvery whirl
Go, wash ye, be cleansed in its pure running stream,
And enter the shrine,