With reverent feet, and pious hands upraised,
Parnassus' double-crested, snowy peak
Gave forth a fearful crash, the laurels shook,
And fair Castalia's waters ceased to flow.
The priestess of the son of Lato then230
Began to spread her bristling locks abroad,
And felt the inspiration of the god.
Scarce had she reached the sacred inner shrine,
When with a roar, beyond the voice of man,
There sounded forth this doubtful oracle: