HYMNS
A Hymn to ApolloI will remember and express the praiseOf heaven’s Far-darter, the fair King of days,Whom even the Gods themselves fear when he goesThrough Jove’s high house; and when his goodly bowsHe goes to bend, all from their thrones arise,And cluster near, t’ admire his faculties.Only Latona stirs not from her seatClose by the Thund’rer, till her Son’s retreatFrom his dread archery; but then she goes,Slackens his string, and shuts his quiver close,And (having taken to her hand his bow,From off his able shoulders) doth bestowUpon a pin of gold the glorious tiller,The pin of gold fix’d in his father’s pillar.Then doth She to his throne his state uphold,Where his great Father, in a cup of gold,Serves him with nectar, and shows all the graceOf his great son. Then th’ other Gods take place;His gracious mother glorying to bearSo great an archer, and a son so clear.All hail, O blest Latona! to bring forthAn issue of such all-out-shining worth,Royal Apollo, and the Queen that lovesThe hurls of darts. She in th’ Ortygian groves,And he in cliffy Delos, leaning onThe lofty Oros, and being built uponBy Cynthus’ prominent, that his head rearsClose to the palm that Inops’ fluent cheers.How shall I praise thee, far being worthiest praise,O Phœbus? To whose worth the law of laysIn all kinds is ascrib’d, if feeding flocksBy continent or isle. All eminent’st rocksDid sing for joy, hill-tops, and floods in songDid break their billows, as they flow’d alongTo serve the sea; the shores, the seas, and allDid sing as soon as from the lap did fallOf blest Latona thee the joy of man.Her child-bed made the mountain CynthianIn rocky Delos, the sea-circled isle,On whose all sides the black seas brake their pile,And overflow’d for joy, so frank a galeThe singing winds did on their waves exhale.Here born, all mortals live in thy commands,Whoever Crete holds, Athens, or the strandsOf th’ isle Ægina, or the famous landFor ships (Eubœa), or Eresia,Or Peparethus bord’ring on the sea,Ægas, or Athos that doth Thrace divideAnd Macedon; or Pelion, with the prideOf his high forehead; or the Samian isle,That likewise lies near Thrace; or Scyrus’ soil;Ida’s steep tops; or all that Phocis fill;Or Autocanes, with the heaven-high hill;Or populous Imber; Lemnos without ports;Or Lesbos, fit for the divine resorts;And sacred soil of blest Æolion;Or Chios that exceeds comparisonFor fruitfulness; with all the isles that lieEmbrac’d with seas; Mimas, with rocks so high;Or lofty-crown’d Corycius; or the brightCharos; or Æsagæus’ dazzling height;Or watery Samos; Mycale, that bearsHer brows even with the circles of the spheres;Miletus; Cous, that the city isOf voice-divided-choice humanities;High Cnidus; Carpathus, still strook with wind;Naxos, and Paros; and the rocky-min’dRugged Rhenæa. Yet through all these partsLatona, great-grown with the King of darts,Travell’d; and tried if any would becomeTo her dear birth an hospitable home.All which extremely trembled, shook with fear,Nor durst endure so high a birth to bearIn their free states, though, for it, they becameNever so fruitful; till the reverend DameAscended Delos, and her soil did seizeWith these wing’d words: “O Delos! Wouldst thou pleaseTo be my son Apollo’s native seat,And build a wealthy fane to one so great,No one shall blame or question thy kind deed.Nor think I, thou dost sheep or oxen feedIn any such store, or in vines exceed,Nor bring’st forth such innumerable plants,Which often make the rich inhabitantsCareless of Deity. If thou then shouldst rearA fane to Phœbus, all men would conferWhole hecatombs of beeves for sacrifice,Still thronging hither; and to thee would riseEver unmeasur’d odours, shouldst thou longNourish thy King thus; and from foreign wrongThe Gods would guard thee; which thine own addressCan never compass for thy barrenness.”She said, and Delos joy’d, replying thus:“Most happy sister of Saturnius!I gladly would with all means entertainThe King your son, being now despised of men,But should be honour’d with the greatest then.Yet this I fear, nor will conceal from thee:Your son, some say, will author miseryIn many kinds, as being to sustainA mighty empire over Gods and men,Upon the holy-gift-giver the Earth.And bitterly I fear that, when his birthGives him the sight of my so barren soil,He will contemn, and give me up to spoil,Enforce the sea to me, that ever willOppress my heart with many a wat’ry hill.And therefore let him choose some other land,Where he shall please, to build at his commandTemple and grove, set thick with many a tree.For wretched polypuses breed in meRetiring chambers, and black sea-calves denIn my poor soil, for penury of men.And yet, O Goddess, wouldst thou please to swearThe Gods’ great oath to me, before thou bearThy blessed son here, that thou wilt erectA fane to him, to render the effectOf men’s demands to them before they fall,Then will thy son’s renown be general,Men will his name in such variety call,And I shall then be glad his birth to bear.”This said, the Gods’ great oath she thus did swear:“Know this, O Earth! broad heaven’s inferior sphere,And of black Styx the most infernal lake,(Which is the gravest oath the Gods can take)That here shall ever rise to Phœbus’ nameAn odorous fane and altar; and thy fameHonour, past all isles else, shall see him employ’d.”Her oath thus took and ended, Delos joy’din mighty measure that she should becomeTo far-shot Phœbus’ birth the famous home.Latona then nine days and nights did fallIn hopeless labour; at whose birth were allHeaven’s most supreme and worthy Goddesses,Dione, Rhæa, and th’ ExploratressThemis, and Amphitrite that will bePursu’d with sighs still; every Deity,Except the snowy-wristed wife of Jove,Who held her moods aloft, and would not move;Only Lucina (to whose virtue vowsEach childbirth patient) heard not of her throes,But sat, by Juno’s counsel, on the browsOf broad Olympus, wrapp’d in clouds of gold.Whom Jove’s proud wife in envy did withhold,Because bright-lock’d Latona was to bearA son so faultless and in force so clear.The rest Thaumantia sent before, to bringLucina to release the envied king,Assuring her, that they would straight conferA carcanet, nine cubits long, on her,All woven with wires of gold. But charg’d her, then,To call apart from th’ ivory-wristed QueenThe childbirth-guiding Goddess, for just fearLest, her charge utter’d in Saturnia’s ear,She, after, might dissuade her from descent.When wind-swift-footed Iris knew th’ intentOf th’ other Goddesses, away she went,And instantly she pass’d the infinite space’Twixt earth and heaven; when, coming to the placeWhere dwelt th’ Immortals, straight without the gateShe gat Lucina, and did all relateThe Goddesses commanded, and inclin’dTo all that they demanded her dear mind.And on their way they went, like those two dovesThat, walking highways, every shadow movesUp from the earth, forc’d with their natural fear.When ent’ring Delos, She, that is so dearTo dames in labour, made Latona straightProne to delivery, and to wield the weightOf her dear burthen with a world of ease.When, with her fair hand, she a palm did seize,And, staying her by it, stuck her tender kneesAmidst the soft mead, that did smile beneathHer sacred labour; and the child did breatheThe air in th’ instant. All the GoddessesBrake in kind tears and shrieks for her quick ease,And thee, O archer Phœbus, with waves clearWash’d sweetly over, swaddled with sincereAnd spotless swathbands; and made then to flowAbout thy breast a mantle, white as snow,Fine, and new made; and cast a veil of goldOver thy forehead. Nor yet forth did holdThy mother for thy food her golden breast,But Themis, in supply of it, address’dLovely Ambrosia, and drunk off to theeA bowl of nectar, interchangeablyWith her immortal fingers serving thine.And when, O Phœbus, that eternal wineThy taste had relish’d, and that food divine,No golden swathband longer could containThy panting bosom; all that would constrainThy soon-eas’d Godhead, every feeble chainOf earthy child-rites, flew in sunder all.And then didst thou thus to the Deities call:“Let there be given me my lov’d lute and bow,I’ll prophesy to men, and make them knowJove’s perfect counsels.” This said, up did flyFrom broad-way’d Earth the unshorn Deity,Far-shot Apollo. All th’ Immortals stoodIn steep amaze to see Latona’s brood.All Delos, looking on him, all with goldWas loaden straight, and joy’d to be extoll’dBy great Latona so, that she decreedHer barrenness should bear the fruitful’st seedOf all the isles and continents of earth,And lov’d her from her heart so for her birth.For so she flourish’d, as a hill that stoodCrown’d with the flow’r of an abundant wood.And thou, O Phœbus, bearing in thy handThy silver bow, walk’st over every land,Sometimes ascend’st the rough-hewn rocky hillOf desolate Cynthus, and sometimes tak’st willTo visit islands, and the plumps of men.And many a temple, all ways, men ordainTo thy bright Godhead; groves, made dark with trees,And never shorn, to hide the Deities,All high-lov’d prospects, all the steepest browsOf far-seen hills, and every flood that flowsForth to the sea, are dedicate to thee.But most of all thy mind’s alacrityIs rais’d with Delos; since, to fill thy fane,There flocks so many an Ionian,With ample gowns that flow down to their feet,With all their children, and the reverend sweetOf all their pious wives. And these are theyThat (mindful of thee) even thy DeityRender more spritely with their champion fight,Dances, and songs, perform’d to glorious sight,Once having publish’d, and proclaim’d their strife.And these are acted with such exquisite lifeThat one would say, “Now, the Ionian strainsAre turn’d Immortals, nor know what age means.”His mind would take such pleasure from his eye,To see them serv’d by all mortality,Their men so human, women so well grac’d,Their ships so swift, their riches so increas’d,Since thy observance, who, being all beforeThy opposites, were all despis’d and poor.And to all these this absolute wonder add,Whose praise shall render all posterities glad:The Delian virgins are thy handmaids all,And, since they serv’d Apollo, jointly fallBefore Latona, and Diana too,In sacred service, and do therefore knowHow to make mention of the ancient trimsOf men and women, in their well-made hymns,And soften barbarous nations with their songs,Being able all to speak the several tonguesOf foreign nations, and to imitateTheir musics there, with art so fortunateThat one would say, there everyone did speak,And all their tunes in natural accents break,Their songs so well compos’d are, and their artTo answer all sounds is of such desert.But come, Latona, and thou King of flames,With Phœbe, rect’ress of chaste thoughts in damesLet me salute ye, and your graces callHereafter to my just memorial.And you, O Delian virgins, do me grace,When any stranger of our earthy race,Whose restless life affliction hath in chace,Shall hither come and question you, who is,To your chaste ears, of choicest facultiesIn sacred poesy, and with most rightIs author of your absolut’st delight,Ye shall yourselves do all the right ye canTo answer for our name:—“The sightless manOf stony Chios. All whose poems shallIn all last ages stand for capital.”This for your own sakes I desire, for IWill propagate mine own precedencyAs far as earth shall well-built cities bear,Or human conversation is held dear,Not with my praise direct, but praises due,And men shall credit it, because ’tis true.However, I’ll not cease the praise I vowTo far-shot Phœbus with the silver bow,Whom lovely-hair’d Latona gave the light.O King! both Lycia is in rule thy right,Fair Mœony, and the maritimalMiletus, wish’d to be the seat of all.But chiefly Delos, girt with billows round,Thy most respected empire doth resound.Where thou to Pythus went’st, to answer there,As soon as thou wert born, the burning earOf many a far-come, to hear future deeds,Clad in divine and odoriferous weeds,And with thy golden fescue play’dst uponThy hollow harp, that sounds to heaven set gone.Then to Olympus swift as thought he flew,To Jove’s high house, and had a retinueOf Gods t’ attend him; and then straight did fallTo study of the harp, and harpsical,All th’ Immortals. To whom every MuseWith ravishing voices did their answers use,Singing th’ eternal deeds of Deity,And from their hands what hells of miseryPoor humans suffer, living desperate quite,And not an art they have, wit, or deceit,Can make them manage any act aright,Nor find, with all the soul they can engage,A salve for death, or remedy for age.But here the fair-hair’d Graces, the wise Hours,Harmonia, Hebe, and sweet Venus’ pow’rs,Danc’d, and each other’s palm to palm did cling.And with these danc’d not a deformed thing,No forespoke dwarf, nor downward witherling,But all with wond’rous goodly forms were deckt,And mov’d with beauties of unpriz’d aspect.Dart-dear Diana, even with Phœbus bred,Danc’d likewise there; and Mars a march did treadWith that brave bevy. In whose consort fellArgicides, th’ ingenious sentinel.Phœbus-Apollo touch’d his lute to themSweetly and softly, a most glorious beamCasting about him, as he danc’d and play’d,And even his feet were all with rays array’d;His weed and all of a most curious trimWith no less lustre grac’d and circled him.By these Latona, with a hair that shin’dLike burnish’d gold, and, with the mighty mind;Heaven’s counsellor, Jove, sat with delightsome eyes;To see their son new rank’d with Deities.How shall I praise thee, then, that art all praise?Amongst the brides shall I thy Deity raise?Or being in love, when sad thou went’st to wooThe virgin Aza, and didst overthrowThe even-with-Gods, Elation’s mighty seed,That had of goodly horse so brave a breed,And Phorbas, son of sovereign Triopus,Valiant Leucippus, and Ereutheus,And Triopus himself with equal fall,Thou but on foot, and they on horseback all?Or shall I sing thee, as thou first didst graceEarth with thy foot, to find thee forth a placeFit to pronounce thy oracles to men?First from Olympus thou alightedst thenInto Pieria, passing all the landOf fruitless Lesbos, chok’d with drifts of sand,The Magnets likewise, and the Perrhæbes;And to Iolcus variedst thy access,Cenæus’ tops ascending, that their baseMake bright Eubœa, being of ships the grace,And fix’d thy fair stand in Lelantus’ field,That did not yet thy mind’s contentment yieldTo raise a fane on, and a sacred grove.Passing Euripus then, thou mad’st removeUp to earth’s ever-green and holiest hill.Yet swiftly thence, too, thou transcendedst stillTo Mycalessus, and didst touch uponTeumessus, apt to make green couches on,And flowery field-beds. Then thy progress foundThebes out, whose soil with only woods was crown’d,For yet was sacred Thebes no human seat,And therefore were no paths nor highways beatOn her free bosom, that flows now with wheat,But then she only wore on it a wood.From hence (even loth to part, because it stoodFit for thy service) thou putt’st on removeTo green Onchestus, Neptune’s glorious grove,Where new-tam’d horse, bred, nourish nerves so rareThat still they frolic, though they travell’d areNever so sore, and hurry after themMost heavy coaches, but are so extreme(In usual travel) fiery and free,That though their coachman ne’er so masterlyGoverns their courages, he sometimes mustForsake his seat, and give their spirits their lust,When after them their empty coach they draw,Foaming, and neighing, quite exempt from awe.And if their coachman guide through any groveUnshorn, and vow’d to any Deity’s love,The lords encoach’d leap out, and all their careUse to allay their fires, with speaking fairStroking and trimming them, and in some queach,Or strength of shade, within their nearest reach,Reining them up, invoke the deified KingOf that unshorn and everlasting spring,And leave them then to her preserving hands,Who is the Fate that there the God commands.And this was first the sacred fashion there.From hence thou went’st, O thou in shafts past peer,And found’st Cephissus with thy all-seeing beams,Whose flood affects so many silver streams,And from Lilæus pours so bright a wave.Yet forth thy foot flew, and thy fair eyes gaveThe view of Ocale the rich in tow’rs;Then to Amartus that abounds in flow’rs,Then to Delphusa putt’st thy progress on,Whose blessed soil nought harmful breeds upon;And there thy pleasure would a fane adorn,And nourish woods whose shades should ne’er be shorn.Where this thou told’st her, standing to her close:“Delphusa, here I entertain supposeTo build a far-fam’d temple, and ordainAn oracle t’ inform the minds of men,Who shall for ever offer to my loveWhole hecatombs; even all the men that moveIn rich Peloponnesus, and all thoseOf Europe, and the isles the seas enclose,Whom future search of acts and beings brings.To whom I’ll prophesy the truths of thingsIn that rich temple where my oracle sings.”This said, the All-bounds-reacher, with his bow,The fane’s divine foundations did foreshow;Ample they were, and did huge length impart,With a continuate tenour, full of art.But when Delphusa look’d into his end,Her heart grew angry, and did thus extendItself to Phœbus: “Phœbus, since thy mindA far-fam’d fane hath in itself design’dTo bear an oracle to men in me,That hecatombs may put in fire to thee,This let me tell thee, and impose for stayUpon thy purpose: Th’ inarticulate neighOf fire-hov’d horse will ever disobeyThy numerous ear, and mules will for their drinkTrouble my sacred springs, and I should thinkThat any of the human race had ratherSee here the hurries of rich coaches gather,And hear the haughty neighs of swift-hov’d horse,Than in his pleasure’s place convert recourseT’a mighty temple; and his wealth bestowOn pieties, where his sports may freely flow,Or see huge wealth that he shall never owe.And, therefore, wouldst thou hear my free advice,—Though mightier far thou art, and much more wise,O king, than I, thy pow’r being great’st of allIn Crissa, underneath the bosom’s fallOf steep Parnassus,—let thy mind be givenTo set thee up a fane, where never drivenShall glorious coaches be, nor horses’ neighsStorm near thy well-built altars, but thy praiseLet the fair race of pious humans bringInto thy fane, that Io-pæans sing.And those gifts only let thy deified mindBe circularly pleas’d with, being the kindAnd fair burnt-offerings that true Deities bind.”With this his mind she altered, though she spakeNot for his good, but her own glory’s sake.From hence, O Phœbus, first thou mad’st retreat,And of the Phlegians reached the walled seat,Inhabited with contumelious men,Who, slighting Jove, took up their dwellings thenWithin a large cave, near Cephissus’ lake.Hence, swiftly moving, thou all speed didst makeUp to the tops intended, and the groundOf Crissa, under the-with-snow-still-crown’dParnassus, reach’d, whose face affects the West;Above which hangs a rock, that still seems prestTo fall upon it, through whose breast doth runA rocky cave, near which the King the SunCast to contrive a temple to his mind,And said, “Now here stands my conceit inclin’dTo build a famous fane, where still shall beAn oracle to men, that still to meShall offer absolute hecatombs, as wellThose that in rich Peloponnesus dwellAs those of Europe, and the isles that lieWall’d with the sea, that all their pains applyT’ employ my counsels. To all which will ITrue secrets tell, by way of prophecy,In my rich temple, that shall ever beAn oracle to all posterity.”This said, the fane’s form he did straight present,Ample, and of a length of great extent;In which Trophonius and Agamede,Who of Erginus were the famous seed,Impos’d the stony entry, and the heartOf every God had for their excellent art.About the temple dwelt of human nameUnnumber’d nations, it acquired such fame,Being all of stone, built for eternal date.And near it did a fountain propagateA fair stream far away; when Jove’s bright seed,The King Apollo, with an arrow, freedFrom his strong string, destroy’d the DragonessThat wonder nourish’d, being of such excessIn size, and horridness of monstrous shape,That on the forc’d earth she wrought many a rape,Many a spoil made on it, many an illOn crook-haunch’d herds brought, being impurpled stillWith blood of all sorts; having undergoneThe charge of Juno, with the golden throne,To nourish Typhon, the abhorr’d affrightAnd bane of mortals, whom into the lightSaturnia brought forth, being incensed with Jove,Because the most renown’d fruit of his love(Pallas) he got, and shook out of his brain.For which majestic Juno did complainIn this kind to the Bless’d Court of the skies:“Know all ye sex-distinguish’d Deities,That Jove, assembler of the cloudy throng,Begins with me first, and affects with wrongMy right in him, made by himself his wife,That knows and does the honour’d marriage lifeAll honest offices; and yet hath heUnduly got, without my company,Blue-eyed Minerva, who of all the skyOf blest Immortals is the absolute grace;Where I have brought into the Heavenly RaceA son, both taken in his feet and head,So ugly, and so far from worth my bed,That, ravish’d into hand, I took and threwDown to the vast sea his detested view;Where Nereus’ daughter, Thetis, who her wayWith silver feet makes, and the fair arrayOf her bright sisters, saved, and took to guard.But, would to heaven, another yet were sparedThe like grace of his godhead! Crafty mate,What other scape canst thou excogitate?How could thy heart sustain to get aloneThe grey-eyed Goddess? Her conceptionNor bringing forth had any hand of mine,And yet, know all the Gods, I go for thineTo such kind uses. But I’ll now employMy brain to procreate a masculine joy,That ’mongst th’ Immortals may as eminent shine,With shame affecting nor my bed nor thine.Nor will I ever touch at thine again,But far fly it and thee; and yet will reignAmongst th’ Immortals ever.” This spleen spent(Still yet left angry) far away she wentFrom all the Deathless, and yet pray’d to all,Advanced her hand, and, ere she let it fall,Used these excitements: “Hear me now, O Earth!Broad Heaven above it, and beneath, your birth,The deified Titanois, that dwell aboutVast Tartarus, from whence sprung all the routOf Men and Deities! Hear me all, I say,With all your forces, and give instant wayT’ a son of mine without Jove, who yet mayNothing inferior prove in force to him,But past him spring as far in able limbAs he past Saturn.” This pronounced, she strookLife-bearing Earth so strongly, that she shookBeneath her numb’d hand. Which when she beheld,Her bosom with abundant comforts swell’d,In hope all should to her desire extend.From hence the year, that all such proofs gives end,Grew round; yet all that time the bed of JoveShe never touch’d at, never was her loveEnflam’d to sit near his Dædalian throne,As she accustomed, to consult uponCounsels kept dark with many a secret skill,But kept her vow-frequented temple still,Pleas’d with her sacrifice; till now, the nightsAnd days accomplish’d, and the year’s whole rightsIn all her revolutions being expired,The hours and all run out that were requiredTo vent a birth-right, she brought forth a son,Like Gods or men in no condition,But a most dreadful and pernicious thing,Call’d Typhon, who on all the human springConferr’d confusion. Which received to handBy Juno, instantly she gave command(Ill to ill adding) that the DragonessShould bring it up; who took, and did oppressWith many a misery (to maintain th’ excessOf that inhuman monster) all the raceOf men that were of all the world the grace,Till the far-working Phœbus at her sentA fiery arrow, that invoked eventOf death gave to her execrable life.Before which yet she lay in bitter strife,With dying pains, grovelling on earth, and drewExtreme short respirations; for which flewA shout about the air, whence no man knew,But came by power divine. And then she layTumbling her trunk, and winding every wayAbout her nasty nest, quite leaving thenHer murderous life, embrued with deaths of men.Then Phœbus gloried, saying: “Thyself now lieOn men-sustaining earth, and putrefy,Who first of putrefaction was inform’d.Now on thy life have death’s cold vapours storm’d,That storm’dst on men the earth-fed so much death,In envy of the offspring they made breatheTheir lives out on my altars. Now from theeNot Typhon shall enforce the miseryOf merited death, nor She, whose name impliesSuch scathe (Chimæra), but black earth make priseTo putrefaction thy immanities,And bright Hyperion, that light all eyes shows,Thine with a night of rottenness shall close.”Thus spake he glorying. And then seiz’d uponHer horrid heap, with putrefaction,Hyperion’s lovely pow’rs; from whence her nameTook sound of Python, and heaven’s Sovereign FlameWas surnam’d Pythius, since the sharp-eyed SunAffected so with putrefactionThe hellish monster. And now Phœbus’ mindGave him to know that falsehood had strook blindEven his bright eye, because it could not findThe subtle Fountain’s fraud; to whom he flew,Enflamed with anger, and in th’ instant drewClose to Delphusa, using this short vow:“Delphusa! You must look no longer nowTo vent your frauds on me; for well I knowYour situation to be lovely, worthA temple’s imposition, it pours forthSo delicate a stream. But your renownShall now no longer shine here, but mine own.”This said, he thrust her promontory down,And damm’d her fountain up with mighty stones,A temple giving consecrationsIn woods adjoining. And in this fane allOn him, by surname of Delphusius, call,Because Delphusa’s sacred flood and fameHis wrath affected so, and hid in shame.And then thought Phœbus what descent of menTo be his ministers he should retain,To do in stony Pythos sacrifice.To which his mind contending, his quick eyesHe cast upon the blue sea, and beheldA ship, on whose masts sails that wing’d it swell’d,In which were men transferr’d, many and good,That in Minoian Cnossus ate their food,And were Cretensians; who now are thoseThat all the sacrificing dues dispose,And all the laws deliver to a wordOf Day’s great King, that wears the golden sword,And oracles (out of his Delphian treeThat shrouds her fair arms in the cavityBeneath Parnassus’ mount) pronounce to men.These now his priests, that lived as merchants then,In traffics and pecuniary rates,For sandy Pylos and the Pylian states.Were under sail. But now encounter’d themPhœbus-Apollo, who into the streamCast himself headlong, and the strange disguiseTook of a dolphin of a goodly size.Like which he leap’d into their ship, and layAs an ostent of infinite dismay.For none with any strife of mind could lookInto the omen, all the ship-masts shook,And silent all sat with the fear they took,Arm’d not, nor strook they sail, but as beforeWent on with full trim, and a foreright blore,Stiff, and from forth the south, the ship made fly.When first they stripp’d the Malean promont’ry,Touch’d at Laconia’s soil, in which a townTheir ship arriv’d at, that the sea doth crown,Called Tenarus, a place of much delightTo men that serve Heaven’s Comforter of sight.In which are fed the famous flocks that bearThe wealthy fleeces, on a delicate lairBeing fed and seated. Where the merchants fainWould have put in, that they might out againTo tell the miracle that chanced to them,And try if it would take the sacred stream,Rushing far forth, that he again might bearThose other fishes that abounded thereDelightsome company, or still would stayAboard their dry ship. But it fail’d t’ obey,And for the rich Peloponnesian shoreSteer’d her free sail; Apollo made the bloreDirectly guide it. That obeying stillReach’d dry Arena, and (what wish doth fill)Fair Argyphæa, and the populous heightOf Thryus, whose stream, siding her, doth waitWith safe pass on Alphæus, Pylos’ sands,And Pylian dwellers; keeping by the strandsOn which th’ inhabitants of Crunius dwell,And Helida set opposite to hell;Chalcis and Dymes reach’d, and happilyMade sail by Pheras; all being overjoy’dWith that frank gale that Jove himself employ’d.And then amongst the clouds they might descryThe hill, that far-seen Ithaca calls her Eye,Dulichius, Samos, and, with timber graced,Shady Zacynthus. But when now they pastPeloponnesus all, and then when show’dThe infinite vale of Crissa, that doth shroudAll rich Morea with her liberal breast,So frank a gale there flew out of the WestAs all the sky discover’d; ’twas so great,And blew so from the very council seatOf Jove himself, that quickly it might sendThe ship through full seas to her journey’s end.From thence they sail’d, quite opposite, to the East,And to the region where Light leaves his rest,The Light himself being sacred pilot there,And made the sea-trod ship arrive them nearThe grapeful Crissa, where he rest doth takeClose to her port and sands. And then forth brakeThe far-shot King, like to a star that strowsHis glorious forehead where the mid-day glows,That all in sparkles did his state attire,Whose lustre leap’d up to the sphere of fire.He trod where no way oped, and pierced the placeThat of his sacred tripods held the grace,In which he lighted such a fluent flameAs gilt all Crissa; in which every dame,And dame’s fair daughter, cast out vehement criesAt those fell fires of Phœbus’ prodigies,That shaking fears through all their fancies threw.Then, like the mind’s swift light, again he flewBack to the ship, shaped like a youth in heightOf all his graces, shoulders broad and straight,And all his hair in golden curls enwrapp’d;And to the merchants thus his speech he shap’d:“Ho! Strangers! What are you? And from what seatSail ye these ways that salt and water sweat?To traffic justly? Or use vagrant scapesVoid of all rule, conferring wrongs and rapes,Like pirates, on the men ye never saw,With minds project exempt from list or law?Why sit ye here so stupefied, nor takeLand while ye may, nor deposition makeOf naval arms, when this the fashion isOf men industrious, who (their facultiesWearied at sea) leave ship, and use the landFor food, that with their healths and stomachs stand?”This said, with bold minds he their breast supplied,And thus made answer the Cretensian guide:“Stranger! Because you seem to us no seedOf any mortal, but celestial breedFor parts and person, joy your steps ensue,And Gods make good the bliss we think your due.Vouchsafe us true relation, on what landWe here arrive, and what men here command.We were for well-known parts bound, and from Crete(Our vaunted country) to the Pylian seatVow’d our whole voyage; yet arrive we here,Quite cross to those wills that our motions steer,Wishing to make return some other way,Some other course desirous to assay,To pay our lost pains. But some God hath fill’dOur frustrate sails, defeating what we will’d.”Apollo answer’d: “Strangers! Though beforeYe dwelt in woody Cnossus, yet no moreYe must be made your own reciprocalsTo your loved city and fair severalsOf wives and houses, but ye shall have hereMy wealthy temple, honour’d far and nearOf many a nation; for myself am sonTo Jove himself, and of Apollo wonThe glorious title, who thus safely throughThe sea’s vast billows still have held your plough,No ill intending, that will yet ye makeMy temple here your own, and honours takeUpon yourselves, all that to me are given.And more, the counsels of the King of HeavenYourselves shall know, and with his will receiveEver the honours that all men shall give.Do as I say then instantly, strike sail,Take down your tackling, and your vessel haleUp into land; your goods bring forth, and allThe instruments that into sailing fall;Make on this shore an altar, fire enflame,And barley white cakes offer to my name;And then, environing the altar, pray,And call me (as ye saw me in the dayWhen from the windy seas I brake swift wayInto your ship) Delphinius, since I tookA dolphin’s form then. And to every lookThat there shall seek it, that my altar shallBe made a Delphian memorialFrom thence for ever. After this, ascendYour swift black ship and sup, and then intendIngenuous offerings to the equal GodsThat in celestial seats make blest abodes.When, having stay’d your healthful hunger’s sting,Come all with me, and Io-pæans singAll the way’s length, till you attain the stateWhere I your opulent fane have consecrate.”To this they gave him passing diligent ear,And vow’d to his obedience all they were.First, striking sail, their tacklings then they losed,And (with their gables stoop’d) their mast imposedInto the mast-room. Forth themselves then went,And from the sea into the continentDrew up their ship; which far up from the sandThey rais’d with ample rafters. Then in handThey took the altar; and inform’d it onThe sea’s near shore, imposing thereuponWhite cakes of barley, fire made, and did standAbout it round, as Phœbus gave command,Submitting invocations to his will.Then sacrific’d to all the heavenly hillOf pow’rful Godheads. After which they eatAboard their ship, till with fit food repleteThey rose, nor to their temple used delay.Whom Phœbus usher’d, and touch’d all the wayHis heavenly lute with art above admired,Gracefully leading them. When all were firedWith zeal to him, and follow’d wond’ring allTo Pythos; and upon his name did callWith Io-pæans, such as Cretans use.And in their bosoms did the deified MuseVoices of honey-harmony infuse.With never-weary feet their way they went,And made with all alacrity ascentUp to Parnassus, and that long’d-for placeWhere they should live, and be of men the grace.When, all the way, Apollo show’d them stillTheir far-stretch’d valleys, and their two-topp’d hill,Their famous fane, and all that all could raiseTo a supreme height of their joy and praise.And then the Cretan captain thus inquiredOf King Apollo: “Since you have retired,O sovereign, our sad lives so far from friendsAnd native soil (because so far extendsYour dear mind’s pleasure) tell us how we shallLive in your service? To which question callOur provident minds, because we see not crown’dThis soil with store of vines, nor doth aboundIn wealthy meadows, on which we may live,As well as on men our attendance give.”He smiled, and said: “O men that nothing know,And so are follow’d with a world of woe,That needs will succour care and curious moan,And pour out sighs without cessation,Were all the riches of the earth your own!Without much business, I will render knownTo your simplicities an easy wayTo wealth enough, Let every man purveyA skeane, or slaught’ring steel, and his right hand,Bravely bestowing, evermore see mann’dWith killing sheep, that to my fane will flowFrom all far nations. On all which bestowGood observation, and all else they giveTo me make you your own all, and so live.For all which watch before my temple well,And all my counsels, above all, conceal.If any give vain language, or to deeds,Yea or as far as injury, proceeds,Know that, at losers’ hands, for those that gain,It is the law of mortals to sustain.Besides, ye shall have princes to obey,Which still ye must, and (so ye gain) ye may.All now is said; give all thy memory’s stay.”And thus to thee, Jove and Latona’s son,Be given all grace of salutation!Both thee and others of th’ Immortal StateMy song shall memorize to endless date.THE END OF THE HYMN TO APOLLO.
I will remember and express the praiseOf heaven’s Far-darter, the fair King of days,Whom even the Gods themselves fear when he goesThrough Jove’s high house; and when his goodly bowsHe goes to bend, all from their thrones arise,And cluster near, t’ admire his faculties.Only Latona stirs not from her seatClose by the Thund’rer, till her Son’s retreatFrom his dread archery; but then she goes,Slackens his string, and shuts his quiver close,And (having taken to her hand his bow,From off his able shoulders) doth bestowUpon a pin of gold the glorious tiller,The pin of gold fix’d in his father’s pillar.Then doth She to his throne his state uphold,Where his great Father, in a cup of gold,Serves him with nectar, and shows all the graceOf his great son. Then th’ other Gods take place;His gracious mother glorying to bearSo great an archer, and a son so clear.All hail, O blest Latona! to bring forthAn issue of such all-out-shining worth,Royal Apollo, and the Queen that lovesThe hurls of darts. She in th’ Ortygian groves,And he in cliffy Delos, leaning onThe lofty Oros, and being built uponBy Cynthus’ prominent, that his head rearsClose to the palm that Inops’ fluent cheers.How shall I praise thee, far being worthiest praise,O Phœbus? To whose worth the law of laysIn all kinds is ascrib’d, if feeding flocksBy continent or isle. All eminent’st rocksDid sing for joy, hill-tops, and floods in songDid break their billows, as they flow’d alongTo serve the sea; the shores, the seas, and allDid sing as soon as from the lap did fallOf blest Latona thee the joy of man.Her child-bed made the mountain CynthianIn rocky Delos, the sea-circled isle,On whose all sides the black seas brake their pile,And overflow’d for joy, so frank a galeThe singing winds did on their waves exhale.Here born, all mortals live in thy commands,Whoever Crete holds, Athens, or the strandsOf th’ isle Ægina, or the famous landFor ships (Eubœa), or Eresia,Or Peparethus bord’ring on the sea,Ægas, or Athos that doth Thrace divideAnd Macedon; or Pelion, with the prideOf his high forehead; or the Samian isle,That likewise lies near Thrace; or Scyrus’ soil;Ida’s steep tops; or all that Phocis fill;Or Autocanes, with the heaven-high hill;Or populous Imber; Lemnos without ports;Or Lesbos, fit for the divine resorts;And sacred soil of blest Æolion;Or Chios that exceeds comparisonFor fruitfulness; with all the isles that lieEmbrac’d with seas; Mimas, with rocks so high;Or lofty-crown’d Corycius; or the brightCharos; or Æsagæus’ dazzling height;Or watery Samos; Mycale, that bearsHer brows even with the circles of the spheres;Miletus; Cous, that the city isOf voice-divided-choice humanities;High Cnidus; Carpathus, still strook with wind;Naxos, and Paros; and the rocky-min’dRugged Rhenæa. Yet through all these partsLatona, great-grown with the King of darts,Travell’d; and tried if any would becomeTo her dear birth an hospitable home.All which extremely trembled, shook with fear,Nor durst endure so high a birth to bearIn their free states, though, for it, they becameNever so fruitful; till the reverend DameAscended Delos, and her soil did seizeWith these wing’d words: “O Delos! Wouldst thou pleaseTo be my son Apollo’s native seat,And build a wealthy fane to one so great,No one shall blame or question thy kind deed.Nor think I, thou dost sheep or oxen feedIn any such store, or in vines exceed,Nor bring’st forth such innumerable plants,Which often make the rich inhabitantsCareless of Deity. If thou then shouldst rearA fane to Phœbus, all men would conferWhole hecatombs of beeves for sacrifice,Still thronging hither; and to thee would riseEver unmeasur’d odours, shouldst thou longNourish thy King thus; and from foreign wrongThe Gods would guard thee; which thine own addressCan never compass for thy barrenness.”She said, and Delos joy’d, replying thus:“Most happy sister of Saturnius!I gladly would with all means entertainThe King your son, being now despised of men,But should be honour’d with the greatest then.Yet this I fear, nor will conceal from thee:Your son, some say, will author miseryIn many kinds, as being to sustainA mighty empire over Gods and men,Upon the holy-gift-giver the Earth.And bitterly I fear that, when his birthGives him the sight of my so barren soil,He will contemn, and give me up to spoil,Enforce the sea to me, that ever willOppress my heart with many a wat’ry hill.And therefore let him choose some other land,Where he shall please, to build at his commandTemple and grove, set thick with many a tree.For wretched polypuses breed in meRetiring chambers, and black sea-calves denIn my poor soil, for penury of men.And yet, O Goddess, wouldst thou please to swearThe Gods’ great oath to me, before thou bearThy blessed son here, that thou wilt erectA fane to him, to render the effectOf men’s demands to them before they fall,Then will thy son’s renown be general,Men will his name in such variety call,And I shall then be glad his birth to bear.”This said, the Gods’ great oath she thus did swear:“Know this, O Earth! broad heaven’s inferior sphere,And of black Styx the most infernal lake,(Which is the gravest oath the Gods can take)That here shall ever rise to Phœbus’ nameAn odorous fane and altar; and thy fameHonour, past all isles else, shall see him employ’d.”Her oath thus took and ended, Delos joy’din mighty measure that she should becomeTo far-shot Phœbus’ birth the famous home.Latona then nine days and nights did fallIn hopeless labour; at whose birth were allHeaven’s most supreme and worthy Goddesses,Dione, Rhæa, and th’ ExploratressThemis, and Amphitrite that will bePursu’d with sighs still; every Deity,Except the snowy-wristed wife of Jove,Who held her moods aloft, and would not move;Only Lucina (to whose virtue vowsEach childbirth patient) heard not of her throes,But sat, by Juno’s counsel, on the browsOf broad Olympus, wrapp’d in clouds of gold.Whom Jove’s proud wife in envy did withhold,Because bright-lock’d Latona was to bearA son so faultless and in force so clear.The rest Thaumantia sent before, to bringLucina to release the envied king,Assuring her, that they would straight conferA carcanet, nine cubits long, on her,All woven with wires of gold. But charg’d her, then,To call apart from th’ ivory-wristed QueenThe childbirth-guiding Goddess, for just fearLest, her charge utter’d in Saturnia’s ear,She, after, might dissuade her from descent.When wind-swift-footed Iris knew th’ intentOf th’ other Goddesses, away she went,And instantly she pass’d the infinite space’Twixt earth and heaven; when, coming to the placeWhere dwelt th’ Immortals, straight without the gateShe gat Lucina, and did all relateThe Goddesses commanded, and inclin’dTo all that they demanded her dear mind.And on their way they went, like those two dovesThat, walking highways, every shadow movesUp from the earth, forc’d with their natural fear.When ent’ring Delos, She, that is so dearTo dames in labour, made Latona straightProne to delivery, and to wield the weightOf her dear burthen with a world of ease.When, with her fair hand, she a palm did seize,And, staying her by it, stuck her tender kneesAmidst the soft mead, that did smile beneathHer sacred labour; and the child did breatheThe air in th’ instant. All the GoddessesBrake in kind tears and shrieks for her quick ease,And thee, O archer Phœbus, with waves clearWash’d sweetly over, swaddled with sincereAnd spotless swathbands; and made then to flowAbout thy breast a mantle, white as snow,Fine, and new made; and cast a veil of goldOver thy forehead. Nor yet forth did holdThy mother for thy food her golden breast,But Themis, in supply of it, address’dLovely Ambrosia, and drunk off to theeA bowl of nectar, interchangeablyWith her immortal fingers serving thine.And when, O Phœbus, that eternal wineThy taste had relish’d, and that food divine,No golden swathband longer could containThy panting bosom; all that would constrainThy soon-eas’d Godhead, every feeble chainOf earthy child-rites, flew in sunder all.And then didst thou thus to the Deities call:“Let there be given me my lov’d lute and bow,I’ll prophesy to men, and make them knowJove’s perfect counsels.” This said, up did flyFrom broad-way’d Earth the unshorn Deity,Far-shot Apollo. All th’ Immortals stoodIn steep amaze to see Latona’s brood.All Delos, looking on him, all with goldWas loaden straight, and joy’d to be extoll’dBy great Latona so, that she decreedHer barrenness should bear the fruitful’st seedOf all the isles and continents of earth,And lov’d her from her heart so for her birth.For so she flourish’d, as a hill that stoodCrown’d with the flow’r of an abundant wood.And thou, O Phœbus, bearing in thy handThy silver bow, walk’st over every land,Sometimes ascend’st the rough-hewn rocky hillOf desolate Cynthus, and sometimes tak’st willTo visit islands, and the plumps of men.And many a temple, all ways, men ordainTo thy bright Godhead; groves, made dark with trees,And never shorn, to hide the Deities,All high-lov’d prospects, all the steepest browsOf far-seen hills, and every flood that flowsForth to the sea, are dedicate to thee.But most of all thy mind’s alacrityIs rais’d with Delos; since, to fill thy fane,There flocks so many an Ionian,With ample gowns that flow down to their feet,With all their children, and the reverend sweetOf all their pious wives. And these are theyThat (mindful of thee) even thy DeityRender more spritely with their champion fight,Dances, and songs, perform’d to glorious sight,Once having publish’d, and proclaim’d their strife.And these are acted with such exquisite lifeThat one would say, “Now, the Ionian strainsAre turn’d Immortals, nor know what age means.”His mind would take such pleasure from his eye,To see them serv’d by all mortality,Their men so human, women so well grac’d,Their ships so swift, their riches so increas’d,Since thy observance, who, being all beforeThy opposites, were all despis’d and poor.And to all these this absolute wonder add,Whose praise shall render all posterities glad:The Delian virgins are thy handmaids all,And, since they serv’d Apollo, jointly fallBefore Latona, and Diana too,In sacred service, and do therefore knowHow to make mention of the ancient trimsOf men and women, in their well-made hymns,And soften barbarous nations with their songs,Being able all to speak the several tonguesOf foreign nations, and to imitateTheir musics there, with art so fortunateThat one would say, there everyone did speak,And all their tunes in natural accents break,Their songs so well compos’d are, and their artTo answer all sounds is of such desert.But come, Latona, and thou King of flames,With Phœbe, rect’ress of chaste thoughts in damesLet me salute ye, and your graces callHereafter to my just memorial.And you, O Delian virgins, do me grace,When any stranger of our earthy race,Whose restless life affliction hath in chace,Shall hither come and question you, who is,To your chaste ears, of choicest facultiesIn sacred poesy, and with most rightIs author of your absolut’st delight,Ye shall yourselves do all the right ye canTo answer for our name:—“The sightless manOf stony Chios. All whose poems shallIn all last ages stand for capital.”This for your own sakes I desire, for IWill propagate mine own precedencyAs far as earth shall well-built cities bear,Or human conversation is held dear,Not with my praise direct, but praises due,And men shall credit it, because ’tis true.However, I’ll not cease the praise I vowTo far-shot Phœbus with the silver bow,Whom lovely-hair’d Latona gave the light.O King! both Lycia is in rule thy right,Fair Mœony, and the maritimalMiletus, wish’d to be the seat of all.But chiefly Delos, girt with billows round,Thy most respected empire doth resound.Where thou to Pythus went’st, to answer there,As soon as thou wert born, the burning earOf many a far-come, to hear future deeds,Clad in divine and odoriferous weeds,And with thy golden fescue play’dst uponThy hollow harp, that sounds to heaven set gone.Then to Olympus swift as thought he flew,To Jove’s high house, and had a retinueOf Gods t’ attend him; and then straight did fallTo study of the harp, and harpsical,All th’ Immortals. To whom every MuseWith ravishing voices did their answers use,Singing th’ eternal deeds of Deity,And from their hands what hells of miseryPoor humans suffer, living desperate quite,And not an art they have, wit, or deceit,Can make them manage any act aright,Nor find, with all the soul they can engage,A salve for death, or remedy for age.But here the fair-hair’d Graces, the wise Hours,Harmonia, Hebe, and sweet Venus’ pow’rs,Danc’d, and each other’s palm to palm did cling.And with these danc’d not a deformed thing,No forespoke dwarf, nor downward witherling,But all with wond’rous goodly forms were deckt,And mov’d with beauties of unpriz’d aspect.Dart-dear Diana, even with Phœbus bred,Danc’d likewise there; and Mars a march did treadWith that brave bevy. In whose consort fellArgicides, th’ ingenious sentinel.Phœbus-Apollo touch’d his lute to themSweetly and softly, a most glorious beamCasting about him, as he danc’d and play’d,And even his feet were all with rays array’d;His weed and all of a most curious trimWith no less lustre grac’d and circled him.By these Latona, with a hair that shin’dLike burnish’d gold, and, with the mighty mind;Heaven’s counsellor, Jove, sat with delightsome eyes;To see their son new rank’d with Deities.How shall I praise thee, then, that art all praise?Amongst the brides shall I thy Deity raise?Or being in love, when sad thou went’st to wooThe virgin Aza, and didst overthrowThe even-with-Gods, Elation’s mighty seed,That had of goodly horse so brave a breed,And Phorbas, son of sovereign Triopus,Valiant Leucippus, and Ereutheus,And Triopus himself with equal fall,Thou but on foot, and they on horseback all?Or shall I sing thee, as thou first didst graceEarth with thy foot, to find thee forth a placeFit to pronounce thy oracles to men?First from Olympus thou alightedst thenInto Pieria, passing all the landOf fruitless Lesbos, chok’d with drifts of sand,The Magnets likewise, and the Perrhæbes;And to Iolcus variedst thy access,Cenæus’ tops ascending, that their baseMake bright Eubœa, being of ships the grace,And fix’d thy fair stand in Lelantus’ field,That did not yet thy mind’s contentment yieldTo raise a fane on, and a sacred grove.Passing Euripus then, thou mad’st removeUp to earth’s ever-green and holiest hill.Yet swiftly thence, too, thou transcendedst stillTo Mycalessus, and didst touch uponTeumessus, apt to make green couches on,And flowery field-beds. Then thy progress foundThebes out, whose soil with only woods was crown’d,For yet was sacred Thebes no human seat,And therefore were no paths nor highways beatOn her free bosom, that flows now with wheat,But then she only wore on it a wood.From hence (even loth to part, because it stoodFit for thy service) thou putt’st on removeTo green Onchestus, Neptune’s glorious grove,Where new-tam’d horse, bred, nourish nerves so rareThat still they frolic, though they travell’d areNever so sore, and hurry after themMost heavy coaches, but are so extreme(In usual travel) fiery and free,That though their coachman ne’er so masterlyGoverns their courages, he sometimes mustForsake his seat, and give their spirits their lust,When after them their empty coach they draw,Foaming, and neighing, quite exempt from awe.And if their coachman guide through any groveUnshorn, and vow’d to any Deity’s love,The lords encoach’d leap out, and all their careUse to allay their fires, with speaking fairStroking and trimming them, and in some queach,Or strength of shade, within their nearest reach,Reining them up, invoke the deified KingOf that unshorn and everlasting spring,And leave them then to her preserving hands,Who is the Fate that there the God commands.And this was first the sacred fashion there.From hence thou went’st, O thou in shafts past peer,And found’st Cephissus with thy all-seeing beams,Whose flood affects so many silver streams,And from Lilæus pours so bright a wave.Yet forth thy foot flew, and thy fair eyes gaveThe view of Ocale the rich in tow’rs;Then to Amartus that abounds in flow’rs,Then to Delphusa putt’st thy progress on,Whose blessed soil nought harmful breeds upon;And there thy pleasure would a fane adorn,And nourish woods whose shades should ne’er be shorn.Where this thou told’st her, standing to her close:“Delphusa, here I entertain supposeTo build a far-fam’d temple, and ordainAn oracle t’ inform the minds of men,Who shall for ever offer to my loveWhole hecatombs; even all the men that moveIn rich Peloponnesus, and all thoseOf Europe, and the isles the seas enclose,Whom future search of acts and beings brings.To whom I’ll prophesy the truths of thingsIn that rich temple where my oracle sings.”This said, the All-bounds-reacher, with his bow,The fane’s divine foundations did foreshow;Ample they were, and did huge length impart,With a continuate tenour, full of art.But when Delphusa look’d into his end,Her heart grew angry, and did thus extendItself to Phœbus: “Phœbus, since thy mindA far-fam’d fane hath in itself design’dTo bear an oracle to men in me,That hecatombs may put in fire to thee,This let me tell thee, and impose for stayUpon thy purpose: Th’ inarticulate neighOf fire-hov’d horse will ever disobeyThy numerous ear, and mules will for their drinkTrouble my sacred springs, and I should thinkThat any of the human race had ratherSee here the hurries of rich coaches gather,And hear the haughty neighs of swift-hov’d horse,Than in his pleasure’s place convert recourseT’a mighty temple; and his wealth bestowOn pieties, where his sports may freely flow,Or see huge wealth that he shall never owe.And, therefore, wouldst thou hear my free advice,—Though mightier far thou art, and much more wise,O king, than I, thy pow’r being great’st of allIn Crissa, underneath the bosom’s fallOf steep Parnassus,—let thy mind be givenTo set thee up a fane, where never drivenShall glorious coaches be, nor horses’ neighsStorm near thy well-built altars, but thy praiseLet the fair race of pious humans bringInto thy fane, that Io-pæans sing.And those gifts only let thy deified mindBe circularly pleas’d with, being the kindAnd fair burnt-offerings that true Deities bind.”With this his mind she altered, though she spakeNot for his good, but her own glory’s sake.From hence, O Phœbus, first thou mad’st retreat,And of the Phlegians reached the walled seat,Inhabited with contumelious men,Who, slighting Jove, took up their dwellings thenWithin a large cave, near Cephissus’ lake.Hence, swiftly moving, thou all speed didst makeUp to the tops intended, and the groundOf Crissa, under the-with-snow-still-crown’dParnassus, reach’d, whose face affects the West;Above which hangs a rock, that still seems prestTo fall upon it, through whose breast doth runA rocky cave, near which the King the SunCast to contrive a temple to his mind,And said, “Now here stands my conceit inclin’dTo build a famous fane, where still shall beAn oracle to men, that still to meShall offer absolute hecatombs, as wellThose that in rich Peloponnesus dwellAs those of Europe, and the isles that lieWall’d with the sea, that all their pains applyT’ employ my counsels. To all which will ITrue secrets tell, by way of prophecy,In my rich temple, that shall ever beAn oracle to all posterity.”This said, the fane’s form he did straight present,Ample, and of a length of great extent;In which Trophonius and Agamede,Who of Erginus were the famous seed,Impos’d the stony entry, and the heartOf every God had for their excellent art.About the temple dwelt of human nameUnnumber’d nations, it acquired such fame,Being all of stone, built for eternal date.And near it did a fountain propagateA fair stream far away; when Jove’s bright seed,The King Apollo, with an arrow, freedFrom his strong string, destroy’d the DragonessThat wonder nourish’d, being of such excessIn size, and horridness of monstrous shape,That on the forc’d earth she wrought many a rape,Many a spoil made on it, many an illOn crook-haunch’d herds brought, being impurpled stillWith blood of all sorts; having undergoneThe charge of Juno, with the golden throne,To nourish Typhon, the abhorr’d affrightAnd bane of mortals, whom into the lightSaturnia brought forth, being incensed with Jove,Because the most renown’d fruit of his love(Pallas) he got, and shook out of his brain.For which majestic Juno did complainIn this kind to the Bless’d Court of the skies:“Know all ye sex-distinguish’d Deities,That Jove, assembler of the cloudy throng,Begins with me first, and affects with wrongMy right in him, made by himself his wife,That knows and does the honour’d marriage lifeAll honest offices; and yet hath heUnduly got, without my company,Blue-eyed Minerva, who of all the skyOf blest Immortals is the absolute grace;Where I have brought into the Heavenly RaceA son, both taken in his feet and head,So ugly, and so far from worth my bed,That, ravish’d into hand, I took and threwDown to the vast sea his detested view;Where Nereus’ daughter, Thetis, who her wayWith silver feet makes, and the fair arrayOf her bright sisters, saved, and took to guard.But, would to heaven, another yet were sparedThe like grace of his godhead! Crafty mate,What other scape canst thou excogitate?How could thy heart sustain to get aloneThe grey-eyed Goddess? Her conceptionNor bringing forth had any hand of mine,And yet, know all the Gods, I go for thineTo such kind uses. But I’ll now employMy brain to procreate a masculine joy,That ’mongst th’ Immortals may as eminent shine,With shame affecting nor my bed nor thine.Nor will I ever touch at thine again,But far fly it and thee; and yet will reignAmongst th’ Immortals ever.” This spleen spent(Still yet left angry) far away she wentFrom all the Deathless, and yet pray’d to all,Advanced her hand, and, ere she let it fall,Used these excitements: “Hear me now, O Earth!Broad Heaven above it, and beneath, your birth,The deified Titanois, that dwell aboutVast Tartarus, from whence sprung all the routOf Men and Deities! Hear me all, I say,With all your forces, and give instant wayT’ a son of mine without Jove, who yet mayNothing inferior prove in force to him,But past him spring as far in able limbAs he past Saturn.” This pronounced, she strookLife-bearing Earth so strongly, that she shookBeneath her numb’d hand. Which when she beheld,Her bosom with abundant comforts swell’d,In hope all should to her desire extend.From hence the year, that all such proofs gives end,Grew round; yet all that time the bed of JoveShe never touch’d at, never was her loveEnflam’d to sit near his Dædalian throne,As she accustomed, to consult uponCounsels kept dark with many a secret skill,But kept her vow-frequented temple still,Pleas’d with her sacrifice; till now, the nightsAnd days accomplish’d, and the year’s whole rightsIn all her revolutions being expired,The hours and all run out that were requiredTo vent a birth-right, she brought forth a son,Like Gods or men in no condition,But a most dreadful and pernicious thing,Call’d Typhon, who on all the human springConferr’d confusion. Which received to handBy Juno, instantly she gave command(Ill to ill adding) that the DragonessShould bring it up; who took, and did oppressWith many a misery (to maintain th’ excessOf that inhuman monster) all the raceOf men that were of all the world the grace,Till the far-working Phœbus at her sentA fiery arrow, that invoked eventOf death gave to her execrable life.Before which yet she lay in bitter strife,With dying pains, grovelling on earth, and drewExtreme short respirations; for which flewA shout about the air, whence no man knew,But came by power divine. And then she layTumbling her trunk, and winding every wayAbout her nasty nest, quite leaving thenHer murderous life, embrued with deaths of men.Then Phœbus gloried, saying: “Thyself now lieOn men-sustaining earth, and putrefy,Who first of putrefaction was inform’d.Now on thy life have death’s cold vapours storm’d,That storm’dst on men the earth-fed so much death,In envy of the offspring they made breatheTheir lives out on my altars. Now from theeNot Typhon shall enforce the miseryOf merited death, nor She, whose name impliesSuch scathe (Chimæra), but black earth make priseTo putrefaction thy immanities,And bright Hyperion, that light all eyes shows,Thine with a night of rottenness shall close.”Thus spake he glorying. And then seiz’d uponHer horrid heap, with putrefaction,Hyperion’s lovely pow’rs; from whence her nameTook sound of Python, and heaven’s Sovereign FlameWas surnam’d Pythius, since the sharp-eyed SunAffected so with putrefactionThe hellish monster. And now Phœbus’ mindGave him to know that falsehood had strook blindEven his bright eye, because it could not findThe subtle Fountain’s fraud; to whom he flew,Enflamed with anger, and in th’ instant drewClose to Delphusa, using this short vow:“Delphusa! You must look no longer nowTo vent your frauds on me; for well I knowYour situation to be lovely, worthA temple’s imposition, it pours forthSo delicate a stream. But your renownShall now no longer shine here, but mine own.”This said, he thrust her promontory down,And damm’d her fountain up with mighty stones,A temple giving consecrationsIn woods adjoining. And in this fane allOn him, by surname of Delphusius, call,Because Delphusa’s sacred flood and fameHis wrath affected so, and hid in shame.And then thought Phœbus what descent of menTo be his ministers he should retain,To do in stony Pythos sacrifice.To which his mind contending, his quick eyesHe cast upon the blue sea, and beheldA ship, on whose masts sails that wing’d it swell’d,In which were men transferr’d, many and good,That in Minoian Cnossus ate their food,And were Cretensians; who now are thoseThat all the sacrificing dues dispose,And all the laws deliver to a wordOf Day’s great King, that wears the golden sword,And oracles (out of his Delphian treeThat shrouds her fair arms in the cavityBeneath Parnassus’ mount) pronounce to men.These now his priests, that lived as merchants then,In traffics and pecuniary rates,For sandy Pylos and the Pylian states.Were under sail. But now encounter’d themPhœbus-Apollo, who into the streamCast himself headlong, and the strange disguiseTook of a dolphin of a goodly size.Like which he leap’d into their ship, and layAs an ostent of infinite dismay.For none with any strife of mind could lookInto the omen, all the ship-masts shook,And silent all sat with the fear they took,Arm’d not, nor strook they sail, but as beforeWent on with full trim, and a foreright blore,Stiff, and from forth the south, the ship made fly.When first they stripp’d the Malean promont’ry,Touch’d at Laconia’s soil, in which a townTheir ship arriv’d at, that the sea doth crown,Called Tenarus, a place of much delightTo men that serve Heaven’s Comforter of sight.In which are fed the famous flocks that bearThe wealthy fleeces, on a delicate lairBeing fed and seated. Where the merchants fainWould have put in, that they might out againTo tell the miracle that chanced to them,And try if it would take the sacred stream,Rushing far forth, that he again might bearThose other fishes that abounded thereDelightsome company, or still would stayAboard their dry ship. But it fail’d t’ obey,And for the rich Peloponnesian shoreSteer’d her free sail; Apollo made the bloreDirectly guide it. That obeying stillReach’d dry Arena, and (what wish doth fill)Fair Argyphæa, and the populous heightOf Thryus, whose stream, siding her, doth waitWith safe pass on Alphæus, Pylos’ sands,And Pylian dwellers; keeping by the strandsOn which th’ inhabitants of Crunius dwell,And Helida set opposite to hell;Chalcis and Dymes reach’d, and happilyMade sail by Pheras; all being overjoy’dWith that frank gale that Jove himself employ’d.And then amongst the clouds they might descryThe hill, that far-seen Ithaca calls her Eye,Dulichius, Samos, and, with timber graced,Shady Zacynthus. But when now they pastPeloponnesus all, and then when show’dThe infinite vale of Crissa, that doth shroudAll rich Morea with her liberal breast,So frank a gale there flew out of the WestAs all the sky discover’d; ’twas so great,And blew so from the very council seatOf Jove himself, that quickly it might sendThe ship through full seas to her journey’s end.From thence they sail’d, quite opposite, to the East,And to the region where Light leaves his rest,The Light himself being sacred pilot there,And made the sea-trod ship arrive them nearThe grapeful Crissa, where he rest doth takeClose to her port and sands. And then forth brakeThe far-shot King, like to a star that strowsHis glorious forehead where the mid-day glows,That all in sparkles did his state attire,Whose lustre leap’d up to the sphere of fire.He trod where no way oped, and pierced the placeThat of his sacred tripods held the grace,In which he lighted such a fluent flameAs gilt all Crissa; in which every dame,And dame’s fair daughter, cast out vehement criesAt those fell fires of Phœbus’ prodigies,That shaking fears through all their fancies threw.Then, like the mind’s swift light, again he flewBack to the ship, shaped like a youth in heightOf all his graces, shoulders broad and straight,And all his hair in golden curls enwrapp’d;And to the merchants thus his speech he shap’d:“Ho! Strangers! What are you? And from what seatSail ye these ways that salt and water sweat?To traffic justly? Or use vagrant scapesVoid of all rule, conferring wrongs and rapes,Like pirates, on the men ye never saw,With minds project exempt from list or law?Why sit ye here so stupefied, nor takeLand while ye may, nor deposition makeOf naval arms, when this the fashion isOf men industrious, who (their facultiesWearied at sea) leave ship, and use the landFor food, that with their healths and stomachs stand?”This said, with bold minds he their breast supplied,And thus made answer the Cretensian guide:“Stranger! Because you seem to us no seedOf any mortal, but celestial breedFor parts and person, joy your steps ensue,And Gods make good the bliss we think your due.Vouchsafe us true relation, on what landWe here arrive, and what men here command.We were for well-known parts bound, and from Crete(Our vaunted country) to the Pylian seatVow’d our whole voyage; yet arrive we here,Quite cross to those wills that our motions steer,Wishing to make return some other way,Some other course desirous to assay,To pay our lost pains. But some God hath fill’dOur frustrate sails, defeating what we will’d.”Apollo answer’d: “Strangers! Though beforeYe dwelt in woody Cnossus, yet no moreYe must be made your own reciprocalsTo your loved city and fair severalsOf wives and houses, but ye shall have hereMy wealthy temple, honour’d far and nearOf many a nation; for myself am sonTo Jove himself, and of Apollo wonThe glorious title, who thus safely throughThe sea’s vast billows still have held your plough,No ill intending, that will yet ye makeMy temple here your own, and honours takeUpon yourselves, all that to me are given.And more, the counsels of the King of HeavenYourselves shall know, and with his will receiveEver the honours that all men shall give.Do as I say then instantly, strike sail,Take down your tackling, and your vessel haleUp into land; your goods bring forth, and allThe instruments that into sailing fall;Make on this shore an altar, fire enflame,And barley white cakes offer to my name;And then, environing the altar, pray,And call me (as ye saw me in the dayWhen from the windy seas I brake swift wayInto your ship) Delphinius, since I tookA dolphin’s form then. And to every lookThat there shall seek it, that my altar shallBe made a Delphian memorialFrom thence for ever. After this, ascendYour swift black ship and sup, and then intendIngenuous offerings to the equal GodsThat in celestial seats make blest abodes.When, having stay’d your healthful hunger’s sting,Come all with me, and Io-pæans singAll the way’s length, till you attain the stateWhere I your opulent fane have consecrate.”To this they gave him passing diligent ear,And vow’d to his obedience all they were.First, striking sail, their tacklings then they losed,And (with their gables stoop’d) their mast imposedInto the mast-room. Forth themselves then went,And from the sea into the continentDrew up their ship; which far up from the sandThey rais’d with ample rafters. Then in handThey took the altar; and inform’d it onThe sea’s near shore, imposing thereuponWhite cakes of barley, fire made, and did standAbout it round, as Phœbus gave command,Submitting invocations to his will.Then sacrific’d to all the heavenly hillOf pow’rful Godheads. After which they eatAboard their ship, till with fit food repleteThey rose, nor to their temple used delay.Whom Phœbus usher’d, and touch’d all the wayHis heavenly lute with art above admired,Gracefully leading them. When all were firedWith zeal to him, and follow’d wond’ring allTo Pythos; and upon his name did callWith Io-pæans, such as Cretans use.And in their bosoms did the deified MuseVoices of honey-harmony infuse.With never-weary feet their way they went,And made with all alacrity ascentUp to Parnassus, and that long’d-for placeWhere they should live, and be of men the grace.When, all the way, Apollo show’d them stillTheir far-stretch’d valleys, and their two-topp’d hill,Their famous fane, and all that all could raiseTo a supreme height of their joy and praise.And then the Cretan captain thus inquiredOf King Apollo: “Since you have retired,O sovereign, our sad lives so far from friendsAnd native soil (because so far extendsYour dear mind’s pleasure) tell us how we shallLive in your service? To which question callOur provident minds, because we see not crown’dThis soil with store of vines, nor doth aboundIn wealthy meadows, on which we may live,As well as on men our attendance give.”He smiled, and said: “O men that nothing know,And so are follow’d with a world of woe,That needs will succour care and curious moan,And pour out sighs without cessation,Were all the riches of the earth your own!Without much business, I will render knownTo your simplicities an easy wayTo wealth enough, Let every man purveyA skeane, or slaught’ring steel, and his right hand,Bravely bestowing, evermore see mann’dWith killing sheep, that to my fane will flowFrom all far nations. On all which bestowGood observation, and all else they giveTo me make you your own all, and so live.For all which watch before my temple well,And all my counsels, above all, conceal.If any give vain language, or to deeds,Yea or as far as injury, proceeds,Know that, at losers’ hands, for those that gain,It is the law of mortals to sustain.Besides, ye shall have princes to obey,Which still ye must, and (so ye gain) ye may.All now is said; give all thy memory’s stay.”And thus to thee, Jove and Latona’s son,Be given all grace of salutation!Both thee and others of th’ Immortal StateMy song shall memorize to endless date.