Then to Eridanus roll they, a huddled throng on-whirling {610}
In a rippling stream. Now a legend thereof do the Kelt-folk tell
How that these which in eddies be tossed be the tears from Apollo that fell,
Even Lêto’s son, which he shed without number in ancient days,
What time he came to the Hyperboreans’ sacred race,
By his father’s threatenings driven from the sunlit heaven to the earth,
Wroth for his son, unto whom Karônis the Nymph gave birth
In bright Lakyreia, where Amyrus’ outfall seaward is rolled.
Yea, such is the tale of these that amidst that people is told.
And, thereon as they sailed, no care for meat nor for drink had they,