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Of the Mother Idaean who sit—by all that priesthood of Crete,

The Daktylians of Ida, born in the cave Dictaean of yore

When the Nymph Anchialê clutched in the throes of travail, and tore{1130}

With the fingers of either hand the earth by Oaxus’ shore.

Knelt Aison’s son to the Goddess, and prayed her with earnest cries

To turn the tempest away, on the flame of the sacrifice

As he poured the wine. And the youths therewithal at Orpheus’ command

Trode round her altar the measure, an armour-sheathèd band,

And clashed with their swords on their shields, that the sound that boded them ill

Might be lost in the air, the wail for the dead, which the people still

In grief for their king sent up; for which cause unto this day

With timbrel and drum the Phrygians worship to Rhea pay.

And the Goddess of them that sought her was found, and inclined her ear{1140}

To the sacrifice-prayer: of her grace did tokens of good appear.

For the trees shed fruit in abundance down, and around their feet

The earth mid her tender grass with flowers unsown was sweet.