The goddess was enraged. Someone had attacked one of her own, and she could not bear such an idea, so she raced to the sea, Apollo close behind. When they reached the shore, Apollo pointed in the distance at a tiny speck upon the water. “That is him,” he said, though in truth the head he pointed to was Artemis’ beloved Orion.
Once on a time, where the milky region is set in a tranquil heaven, lay kindly Aphrodite in her bower, whence night had but lately fled, faint in the rough embrace of her Ares… Weary she lies upon her cushions, where once the Lemnian chains of Hephaistos crept over the bed and held it fast, learning its guilty secret.
She gives kindly gifts to men: smiles are ever on her lovely face, and lovely is the brightness that plays over it. Hail, goddess, queen of well-built Salamis and sea-girt Kypros; grant me a cheerful song. And now I will remember you and another song also.