Of Jove and of Latona sweetly rang
Upon his golden harp. Th’ Olympian mount,
Dwelling of gods, thrill’d back the broken sound.
And there were seen th’ assembly of the gods
Listening, encircled with their blaze of glory:
And in sweet contest with Apollo there
The virgins of Pieria raised the strain
Preluding; and they seem’d as though they sang
With clear sonorous voice. And there appear’d
A sheltering haven from the untamed rage