in Phœbus’ name. For thee too an august shrine
is in store in that our future realm. For there I will lodge
thy oracles and the secret words of destiny which thou 15
shalt speak to my nation, and consecrate chosen men to
thy gracious service. Only commit not thy strains to
leaves, lest they float all confusedly the sport of the
whirling winds. Utter them with thine own mouth, I
implore thee.” So his prayer ended. 20
But the prophetess, not yet Phœbus’ willing slave, is
storming with giant frenzy in her cavern, as though she