"When in the shady Locrian grove Hesiod lay dead,
the Nymphs washed his body w/ water from their own springs,
& heaped high his grave; & thereon the goat-herds   sprinkled
 offerings of milk mingled w/ yellow-honey: such was the
 utterance of the nine Muses that he breathed forth,    that old
              man who had tasted of their pure springs."