Therefore, I greatly fear in heart and spirit that as soon as he sees the light of the sun, he will scorn this island —for truly I have but a hard, rocky soil —and overturn me and thrust me down with his feet in the depths of the sea; then will the great ocean wash deep above my head for ever,
and he will go to another land such as will please him, there to make his temple and wooded groves. So many-footed creatures of the sea will make their lairs in me and black seals their dwellings undisturbed, because I lack people. Yet if you will but dare to swear a great oath, goddess,
that here first he will build a glorious temple to be an oracle for men, then let him afterwards
make temples and wooded groves amongst all men; for surely he will be greatly renowned. So said Delos. And Leto swear the great oath of the gods: “Now hear this, Earth and wide Heaven above,
and dropping water of Styx (this is the strongest and most awful oath for the blessed gods), surely Phoebus shall have here his fragrant altar and precinct, and you he shall honor above all.” Now when Leto had sworn and ended her oath,
Delos was very glad at the birth of the far-shooting lord. But Leto was racked nine days and nine nights with pangs beyond wont.
And there were with her all the chiefest of the goddesses, Dione and Rhea and Ichnaea and Themis and loud-moaning Amphitrite and the other deathless goddesses save white-armed Hera, who sat in the halls of cloud-gathering Zeus. Only Eilithyia, goddess of sore travail, had not heard of Leto's trouble, for she sat on the top of Olympus beneath golden clouds by white-armed Hera's
contriving, who kept her close through envy, because Leto with the lovely tresses was soon to bear a son faultless and strong. But the goddesses sent out Iris from the well-set isle to bring Eilithyia, promising her a great necklace strung with golden threads, nine cubits long.
