THE FIRST HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS. TO JUPITER. While we to Jove select the holy Victim; Whom apter shall we sing, than Jove himself, The God for ever Great, for ever King; Who slew the Earth-born Race, and measures Right To Heav'n's great Habitants? Dictæan hear'st Thou More joyful, or Lycæan, long Dispute And various Thought has trac'd. On Ida's Mount, Or Dicte, studious of his Country's Praise, The Cretan boasts Thy Natal Place: but oft He meets Reproof deserv'd: for He presumptuous Has built a Tomb for Thee, who never know'st To die, but liv'st the same To-day and Ever. Arcadian therefore be Thy Birth: Great Rhea Pregnant to high Parrhasia's Cliffs retir'd, 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 pond'rous Birth: She sought a neighb'ring Spring, To wash the recent Babe: In vain: Arcadia, (However streamy now) adust and dry, Deny'd the Goddess Water: where deep Melas, And rocky Cratis flow, the Chariot smoak'd, Obscure with rising Dust: the thirsty Trav'ler In vain requir'd the Current, then imprison'd In subterranean 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 Scepter struck The yawning Cliff: from it's disparted Height Adown the Mount the gushing Torrent ran, And chear'd the Vallies: There the Heav'nly 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 Fav'rite Virgin's Name: fair Neda rowls By Leprion's ancient Walls, a fruitful Stream. Fast by her flow'ry Bank the Sons of Arcas, Fav'rites of Heav'n, 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 Tett 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 wond'rous Grace, O heav'nly 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 Heav'n, 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 neighb'ring Value By Lot are parted: But high Heav'n, Thy Share, In equal Balance laid 'gainst Sea or Hell, Flings up the adverse Scale, and shuns Proportion. Wherefore not Chance, but Pow'r, 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 Fav'rite rise Propitious, ever soaring from the Right. Thou to the lesser Gods hast well assign'd Their proper Shares of Pow'r; Thy own, great Jove, Boundless and universal. Those who labor The sweaty Forge, who edge the crooked Scythe, Bend stubborn Steel, and harden gleening Armor, 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, mean time, Thy glorious Care, Who model Nations, publish Laws, announce Or Life or Death, and found or change the Empire. Man owns the Pow'r 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 see'st impartial, How They those Means imploy. 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 giv'n 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 ev'ry 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 Pow'r, And less diffuses Good. Then grant us, Gracious, Virtue, and Wealth; for both are of Thy Gift.