443-455 For wonderful is this new-uttered
sound I hear, the like of which I vow that no man nor god dwelling on
Olympus ever yet has known but you, O thievish son of Maia. What skill
is this? What song for desperate cares? What way of song? For verily
here are three things to hand all at once from which to choose,--mirth,
and love, and sweet sleep. And though I am a follower of the Olympian
Muses who love dances and the bright path of song--the full-toned chant
and ravishing thrill of flutes--yet I never cared for any of those feats
of skill at young men’s revels, as I do now for this: I am filled with
wonder, O son of Zeus, at your sweet playing.