What land or sea does not know of Arion?
He could hold back the running waters with his singing.
Often the wolf seeking a lamb was halted by his voice,
Often the lamb stopped, in fleeing the ravening wolf.
Often hare and hounds rested in the same covert,
And the deer on the rock stood still near the lioness,
And the chattering crow perched with Pallas’ owl,
Without a quarrel, and the dove united with the hawk.
They say that Diana has often stood entranced at your music,
Tuneful Arion, as if it were played by her brother’s hand.
Arion’s fame had filled the cities of Sicily,
And charmed the Italian shores with the sound of his lyre:
Travelling back from there, he boarded a ship
Carrying with him the wealth won by his art.
Unhappy one, perhaps you feared the wind and waves,
But the sea, in truth, was safer for you than your ship.
Since the steersman stood there with naked blade,
And the rest of that crew of conspirators were armed.
Why draw that blade? Seaman, steer the wandering vessel:
That weapon is not appropriate in your hands.
Trembling with fear, Arion said: ‘I don’t plead for life,
But let me take up my lyre and play a little.’
They granted it, laughing at the delay. He took the wreath
That might have graced your tresses, Phoebus:
Put on his robe, twice-stained with Tyrian purple:
And, plucked by his thumb, the strings gave out their music,
Such a melody as the swan’s mournful measures,
When the cruel shaft has transfixed its brow.
At once, he plunged, fully clothed into the waves:
The water, leaping, splashed the sky-blue stern.
Then (beyond belief) they say a dolphin
Yielded its back to the unaccustomed weight.
Sitting there, Arion gripped the lyre, and paid his fare
In song, soothing the ocean waves with his singing.
The gods see good deeds: Jupiter took the dolphin
And ordered its constellation to contain nine stars.

Ovid Fasti II vv 83-118