Prayer to Apollo

Pour wine on the altar's fire as we sing our vows again and again to Leto's son, the Preserver of our forefathers. Father Phoebus, whether it is the snowy slopes of Lycia or the thorny slopes of Patara that perpetually keep you busy, or if it pleases you to merge your golden hair in Castalia's chaste moisture — come now, remembering our hospitality, and bless once more the fertile fields of Juno.