This text is part of:
Table of Contents:
Oh, rustic Muse of such varied note, tiotiotiotiotiotinx, I sing with you  in the groves and on the mountain tops, tiotiotiotinx. I poured forth sacred strains from my golden throat  in honor of the god Pan, tiotiotiotinx, from the top of the thickly leaved ash, and my voice mingles with the mighty choirs who extol Cybele on the mountain tops, totototototototototinx. 'Tis to our concerts that Phrynichus comes to pillage like a bee the ambrosia of his songs,  the sweetness of which so charms the ear, tiotiotiotinx.