But one that watched beheld her:  for albeit he was at sheep-gathering Pytho, yet was the temple’s king Loxias aware thereof, beside his unerring partner[2], for he gave heed to his own wisdom, his mind that knoweth all things; in lies it hath no part, neither in act or thought may god or man deceive him.

Therefore when he was aware of how she lay with the stranger Ischys son of Elatos, and of her guile unrighteous, he sent his sister fierce with terrible wrath to go to Lakereia—­for by the steep shores of the Boibian lake was the home of her virginity—­and thus a doom adverse blasted her life and smote her down:  and of her neighbours many fared ill therefore and perished with her:  so doth a fire that from one spark has leapt upon a mountain lay waste wide space of wood.

But when her kinsfolk had laid the damsel upon the pile of wood, and fierce brightness of Hephaistos ran around it, then said Apollo:  ’Not any longer may I endure in my soul to slay mine own seed by a most cruel death in company with its mother’s grievous fate.’

He said, and at the first stride he was there, and from the corpse caught up the child, and the blaze of the burning fiery pile was cloven before him asunder in the midst.

Then to the Kentaur of Magnes he bare the child, that he should teach him to be a healer of the many-plaguing maladies of men.  And thus all that came unto him whether plagued with self-grown sores or with limbs wounded by the lustrous bronze or stone far-hurled, or marred by summer heat or winter cold—­these he delivered, loosing each from his several infirmity, some with emollient spells and some by kindly potions, or else he hung their limbs with charms, or by surgery he raised them up to health.

Yet hath even wisdom been led captive of desire of gain.  Even him did gold in his hands glittering beguile for a great reward to bring back from death a man already prisoner thereto:  wherefore the hands of the son of Kronos smote the twain of them through the midst, and bereft their breasts of breath, and the bright lightning dealt them doom.

It behoveth to seek from gods things meet for mortal souls, knowing the things that are in our path and to what portion we are born.  Desire not thou, dear my soul, a life immortal, but use the tools that are to thine hand.

Now were wise Cheiron in his cavern dwelling yet, and had our sweet-voiced songs laid haply some fair magic on his soul, then had I won him to grant to worthy men some healer of hot plagues, some offspring of Leto’s son, or of her son’s sire[3].

And then in a ship would I have sailed, cleaving the Ionian sea, to the fountain of Arethusa, to the home of my Aitnaian friend, who ruleth at Syracuse, a king of good will to the citizens, not envious of the good, to strangers wondrous fatherly.  Had I but landed there and brought unto him a twofold joy, first golden health and next this my song of triumph to be a splendour in his Pythian crown, which of late Pherenikos[4] won by his victory at Kirrha—­I say that then should I have come unto him, after that I had passed over the deep sea, a farther-shining light than any heavenly star.