Phoebus, of you even the swan sings with clear voice to the beating of his wings, as he alights upon the bank by the eddying river Peneus; and of you the sweet-tongued minstrel, holding his high-pitched lyre, always sings both first and last.
φοῖβε, σὲ μὲν καὶ κύκνος ὑπὸ πτερύγων λίγʼ ἀείδει,ὄχθῃ ἐπιθρώσκων ποταμὸν πάρα δινήεντα,Πηνειόν· σὲ δʼ ἀοιδὸς ἔχων φόρμιγγα λίγειανἡδυεπὴς πρῶτόν τε καὶ ὕστατον αἰὲν ἀείδει.
And so hail to you, lord! I seek your favor with my song.
καὶ σὺ μὲν οὕτω χαῖρε, ἄναξ, ἵλαμαι δέ σʼ ἀοιδῇ.