This Delphi was supposed to be the very midmost spot of the whole world.  The place of the oracle was a certain cavity in the mountain side, over which, when Cadmus came thither, he found a rude bower of branches.  It reminded him of those which he had helped to build for Phoenix and Cilix, and afterward for Thasus.  In later times, when multitudes of people came from great distances to put questions to the oracle, a spacious temple of marble was erected over the spot.  But in the days of Cadmus, as I have told you, there was only this rustic bower, with its abundance of green foliage, and a tuft of shrubbery, that ran wild over the mysterious hole in the hillside.

When Cadmus had thrust a passage through the tangled boughs, and made his way into the bower, he did not at first discern the half-hidden cavity.  But soon he felt a cold stream of air rushing out of it, with so much force that it shook the ringlets on his cheek.  Pulling away the shrubbery which clustered over the hole, he bent forward, and spoke in a distinct but reverential tone, as if addressing some unseen personage inside of the mountain.

“Sacred oracle of Delphi,” said he, “whither shall I go next in quest of my dear sister Europa?”

There was at first a deep silence, and then a rushing sound, or a noise like a long sigh, proceeding out of the interior of the earth.  This cavity, you must know, was looked upon as a sort of fountain of truth, which sometimes gushed out in audible words; although, for the most part, these words were such a riddle that they might just as well have stayed at the bottom of the hole.  But Cadmus was more fortunate than many others who went to Delphi in search of truth.  By and by, the rushing noise began to sound like articulate language.  It repeated, over and over again, the following sentence, which, after all, was so like the vague whistle of a blast of air, that Cadmus really did not quite know whether it meant anything or not: 

“Seek her no more!  Seek her no more!  Seek her no more!”

“What, then, shall I do?” asked Cadmus.

For, ever since he was a child, you know, it had been the great object of his life to find his sister.  From the very hour that he left following the butterfly in the meadow, near his father’s palace, he had done his best to follow Europa, over land and sea.  And now, if he must give up the search, he seemed to have no more business in the world.

But again the sighing gust of air grew into something like a hoarse voice.

“Follow the cow!” it said.  “Follow the cow!  Follow the cow!”

And when these words had been repeated until Cadmus was tired of hearing them (especially as he could not imagine what cow it was, or why he was to follow her), the gusty hole gave vent to another sentence.

“Where the stray cow lies down, there is your home.”

These words were pronounced but a single time, and died away into a whisper before Cadmus was fully satisfied that he had caught the meaning.  He put other questions, but received no answer; only the gust of wind sighed continually out of the cavity, and blew the withered leaves rustling along the ground before it.