31. 
Aethereal born arose out of the flood
Of flowing Ocean, bearing light to men. 
Apollo passed toward the sacred wood, 240
Which from the inmost depths of its green glen
Echoes the voice of Neptune,—­and there stood
On the same spot in green Onchestus then
That same old animal, the vine-dresser,
Who was employed hedging his vineyard there. 245

32. 
Latona’s glorious Son began:—­’I pray
Tell, ancient hedger of Onchestus green,
Whether a drove of kine has passed this way,
All heifers with crooked horns? for they have been
Stolen from the herd in high Pieria, 250
Where a black bull was fed apart, between
Two woody mountains in a neighbouring glen,
And four fierce dogs watched there, unanimous as men.

33. 
’And what is strange, the author of this theft
Has stolen the fatted heifers every one, 255
But the four dogs and the black bull are left:—­
Stolen they were last night at set of sun,
Of their soft beds and their sweet food bereft.—­
Now tell me, man born ere the world begun,
Have you seen any one pass with the cows?’—­ 260
To whom the man of overhanging brows: 

34. 
’My friend, it would require no common skill
Justly to speak of everything I see: 
On various purposes of good or ill
Many pass by my vineyard,—­and to me 265
’Tis difficult to know the invisible
Thoughts, which in all those many minds may be:—­
Thus much alone I certainly can say,
I tilled these vines till the decline of day,

35. 
’And then I thought I saw, but dare not speak 270
With certainty of such a wondrous thing,
A child, who could not have been born a week,
Those fair-horned cattle closely following,
And in his hand he held a polished stick: 
And, as on purpose, he walked wavering 275
From one side to the other of the road,
And with his face opposed the steps he trod.’

36. 
Apollo hearing this, passed quickly on—­
No winged omen could have shown more clear
That the deceiver was his father’s son. 280
So the God wraps a purple atmosphere
Around his shoulders, and like fire is gone
To famous Pylos, seeking his kine there,
And found their track and his, yet hardly cold,
And cried—­’What wonder do mine eyes behold! 285

37. 
’Here are the footsteps of the horned herd
Turned back towards their fields of asphodel;—­
But THESE are not the tracks of beast or bird,
Gray wolf, or bear, or lion of the dell,
Or maned Centaur—­sand was never stirred 290
By man or woman thus!  Inexplicable! 
Who with unwearied feet could e’er impress
The sand with such enormous vestiges?