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Oh! son of Leto, I invoke you, who send forth your holy voice from your golden seat,  your central throne, I shall announce it in your ear: O wicked lover, you received no favor from my husband,  but you settle a child in the house for him; while my son and yours, unknown, is gone, plundered by birds, and has given up the baby-clothes from his mother. Delos hates you, and so do the laurel shoots  beside the palm with delicate leaves, where Leto gave birth to you, a holy birth, in the plants of Zeus.