Eftsoons called they on the name of Apollo the Prophecy-lord;
Then slew they the sheep on the hearth as sloped the sun to the west.
And the younger men of their band made ready the plenteous feast.
So when they had eaten, they turned to their rest, as each man chose,
By the hawsers of Argo these, through the mansion in clusters those.
But at dawn the Etesian breezes blew, which o’er every land
Equally blow in their season by Zeus’s high command.
Kyrênê, ’tis told, in the meads where Peneios’ waters roll {500}
Pastured her sheep in the olden days; for dear to her soul
Were her maidenhood and her couch unstained: but, even as she strayed