all the rest, adds his presence to theirs, and joins the procession;
like Apollo, when he leaves his Lycian winter-seat
and the stream of Xanthus, and visits Delos, his
mother’s isle, and renews the dance; while with mingled
voices round the altar shout Cretans and Dryopians, and 30
tattooed Agathyrsians. The god in majesty walks on
the heights of Cynthus, training his luxuriant hair with the
soft pressure of a wreath of leaves, and twining it with
gold; his arrows rattle on his shoulders. Not with less
ease than he moved Æneas; such the beauty that sparkles 35