תמונות בעמוד
PDF
ePub

And wild Lycæus, black with shading pines:
Holy retreat! Sithence no female hither,
Conscious of social love and nature's rites,
Must dare approach, from the inferior reptile
To woman, form divine. There the blest parent
Ungirt her spacious bosom, and discharg'd

The ponderous birth: she sought a neighbouring

spring

:

To wash the recent babe in vain: Arcadia,
(However streamy) now adust and dry,
Denied the goddess water; where deep Melas,
And rocky Cratis flow, the chariot smok'd,
Obscure with rising dust: the thirsty traveller
In vain requir'd the current, then imprison'd
In subterraneous caverns: forests grew
Upon the barren hollows, high o'ershading
The haunts of savage beasts, where now Iaon
And Erimanth incline their friendly urns.

Thou too, O Earth, great Rhea said, bring forth;
And short shall be thy pangs. She said; and high
She rear'd her arm, and with her sceptre struck
The yawning cliff; from its disparted height
Adown the mount the gushing torrent ran,
And cheer'd the valleys: there the heavenly mother
Bath'd, mighty king, thy tender limbs: she wrapt
them

In purple bands: she gave the precious pledge
To prudent Neda, charging her to guard thee,
Careful and secret: Neda, of the nymphs
That tended the great birth, next Philyre

And Styx, the eldest. Smiling, she receiv'd thee,
And conscious of the grace, absolv'd her trust :
Not unrewarded; since the river bore
The favourite virgin's name: fair Neda rolls
By Lerpion's ancient walls, a faithful stream.
Fast by her flowery banks the sons of Arcas,
Favourites of Heaven, with happy care protect
Their fleecy charge; and joyous drink her wave.
Thee, god, to Cnossus Neda brought: the nymphs
And Corybantes thee, their sacred charge,
Receiv'd: Adraste rock'd thy golden cradle :
The goat, now bright amidst her fellow stars,
Kind Amalthea, reach'd her teat distent
With milk, thy early food: the sedulous bee
Distill'd her honey on thy purple lips.

Around, the fierce Curetes (order solemn
To thy foreknowing mother!) trod tumultuous
Their mystic dance, and clang'd their sounding

arms;

Industrious with the warlike din to quell

Thy infant cries and mock the ear of Saturn:
Swift growth and wondrous grace, O heavenly Jove,
Waited thy blooming years: inventive wit,
And perfect judgment, crown'd thy youthful act.
That Saturn's sons receiv'd the three fold empire
Of Heaven, of ocean, and deep hell beneath,
As the dark urn and chance of lot determin'd,
Old poets mention, fabling. Things of moment
Well nigh equivalent and neighbouring value
By lot are parted: but high Heaven, thy share,

In equal balance laid 'gainst sea cr hell,

Flings up the adverse scale, and shuns proportion. Wherefore not chance, but power, above thy

brethren

Exalted thee, their king. When thy great will
Commands thy chariot forth, impetuous strength,
And fiery swiftness wing the rapid wheels,
Incessant; high the eagle flies before thee,
And oh as I and mine consult thy augur,
Grant the glad omen: let thy favourite rise
Propitious, ever soaring from the right.

Thou to the lesser gods hast well assign'd
Their proper shares of power: thy own, great Jove,
Boundless and universal. Those who labour
The sweaty forge, who edge the crooked scythe,
Bend stubborn steel, and harden gleening armour,
Acknowledge Vulcan's aid. The early hunter.
Blesses Diana's hand, who leads him safe
O'er hanging cliffs, who spreads his net successful,
And guides the arrow through the panther's heart,
The soldier, from successful camps returning
With laurel wreath'd, and rich with hostile spoil,
Severs the bull to Mars. The skilful bard,
Striking the Thracian harp, invokes Apollo,
To make his hero and himself immortal.
Those, mighty Jove, meantime, thy glorious care,
Who model nations, publish laws, announce
Or life or death, and found or change the empire.
Man owns the power of kings; and kings of Jove.
And, as their actions tend subordinate

To what thy will designs, thou giv'st the means

Proportion'd to the work; thou seest impartial,
How they those means employ. Each monarch rules
His different realm, accountable to thee,

Great ruler of the world: these only have
To speak and be obey'd; to those are given
Assistant days to ripen the design;

To some whole months; revolving years to some;
Others, ill-fated, are condemn'd to toil

Their tedious life, and mourn their purpose blasted With fruitless act, and impotence of council.

Hail! greatest son of Saturn, wise disposer Of every good thy praise what man yet born Has sung? or who that may be born shall sing? Again, and often hail! indulge our prayer, Great father! grant us virtue, grant us wealth: For without virtue, wealth to man avails not; And virtue without wealth exerts less power, And less diffuses good. Then grant us, gracious, Virtue and wealth; for both are of thy gift.

THE SECOND HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS. TO APOLLO

HAH! how the laurel, great Apollo's tree,
And all the cavern shakes! far off, far off,
The man that is unhallow'd: for the god,

The god approaches. Hark! he knocks; the gates

Feel the glad impulse: and the sever❜d bars Submissive clink against their brazen portals. Why do the Delian palms incline their boughs, Self-mov'd and hovering swans, their throats releas'd,

:

From native silence, carol sounds harmonious?

Begin, young men, the hymn: let all your harps Break their inglorious silence; and the dance, In mystic numbers trod, explain the music. But first by ardent prayer, and clear lustration, Purge the contagious spots of human weakness: Impure no mortal can behold Apollo. So may ye flourish, favour'd by the god, In youth with happy nuptials, and in age With silver hairs, and fair descent of children; So lay foundations for aspiring cities, And bless your spreading colonies' increase. Pay sacred reverence to Apollo's song; Lest wrathful the far-shooting god emit His fatal arrows. Silent Nature stands; And seas subside, obedient to the sound Of Iö Iö Pean! nor dares Thetis

Longer bewail her lov'd Achilles' death;

For Phoebus was his foe. Nor must sad Niobe In fruitless sorrow persevere, or weep

E'en through the Phrygian marble. Hapless

mother!

[spring Whose fondness could compare her mortal offTo those which fair Latona bore to Jove.

Iö! again repeat ye, Iö Pean!

[blocks in formation]
« הקודםהמשך »