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
hov'ring
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
Pray'r
,
and
clear
Lustration
Purge
the
contagious
Spots
of
Human
Weakness
:
Impure
no
Mortal
can
behold
Apollo
.
So
may
Ye
flourish
,
favor'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
Encrease
.
Pay
sacred
Rev'rence
to
Apollo's
Song
;
Lest
wrathful
the
far-shooting
god
emitt
His
fatal
Arrows
.
Silent
Nature
stands
;
And
Seas
subside
,
obedient
to
the
Sound
Of
Io
,
Io
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
Ev'n
thro'
the
Phrygian
Marble
.
Hapless
Mother
!
Whose
Fondness
cou'd
compare
her
Mortal
Off-spring
To
those
which
fair
Latona
bore
to
Jove
.
Io
!
again
repeat
Ye
,
Io
Pean
!
Against
the
Deity
'tis
hard
to
strive
.
He
that
resists
the
Power
of
Ptolemy
,
Resists
the
Pow'r
of
Heav'n
:
for
Pow'r
from
Heav'n
Derives
;
and
Monarchs
rule
by
Gods
appointed
.
Recite
Apollo's
Praise
,
'till
Night
draws
on
,
The
Ditty
still
unfinish'd
;
and
the
Day
Unequal
to
the
Godhead's
Attributes
Various
,
and
Matter
copious
of
your
Songs
.
Sublime
at
Jove's
right
Hand
Apollo
sits
,
And
thence
distributes
Honor
,
gracious
King
,
And
Theme
of
Verse
perpetual
.
From
his
Robe
Flows
Light
ineffable
:
his
Harp
,
his
Quiver
,
And
Lictian
Bow
are
Gold
:
with
golden
Sandals
His
Feet
are
shod
;
how
rich
!
how
beautiful
!
Beneath
his
Steps
the
yellow
Min'ral
rises
;
And
Earth
reveals
her
Treasures
.
Youth
and
Beauty
Eternal
deck
his
Cheek
:
from
his
fair
Head
Perfumes
distill
their
Sweets
;
and
chearful
Health
,
His
dutious
Handmaid
,
thro'
the
Air
improv'd
,
With
lavish
Hand
diffuses
Scents
Ambrosial
.
The
Spear-man's
Arm
by
Thee
,
great
God
,
directed
,
Sends
forth
a
certain
Wound
.
The
Laurel'd
Bard
,
Inspir'd
by
Thee
,
composes
Verse
Immortal
.
Taught
by
thy
Art
Divine
,
the
sage
Physician
Eludes
the
Urn
;
and
chains
,
or
exiles
Death
.
Thee
Nomian
We
adore
;
for
that
from
Heav'n
Descending
,
Thou
on
fair
Amphrysus'
Banks
Did'st
guard
Admetus'
Herds
.
Sithence
the
Cow
Produc'd
an
ampler
Store
of
Milk
;
the
She-Goat
Not
without
Pain
dragg'd
her
distended
Udder
;
And
Ewes
,
that
erst
brought
forth
but
single
Lambs
,
Now
drop'd
their
Two-fold
Burdens
.
Blest
the
Cattle
,
On
which
Apollo
cast
his
fav'ring
Eye
!
But
,
Phoebus
,
Thou
to
Man
beneficent
,
Delight'st
in
building
Cities
.
Bright
Diana
,
Kind
Sister
to
thy
infant-Deity
New-wean'd
,
and
just
arising
from
the
Cradle
,
Brought
hunted
wild
Goats-Heads
,
and
branching
Antlers
Of
Stags
,
The
Fruit
and
Honor
of
her
Toil
.
These
with
discerning
Hand
Thou
knew'st
to
range
,
(
Young
as
Thou
wast
)
and
in
the
well-fram'd
Models
,
With
Emblematic
Skill
,
and
mystic
Order
,
Thou
shew'dst
,
where
Towers
,
or
Battlements
should
rise
;
Where
gates
should
open
;
or
where
Walls
should
compass
:
While
from
thy
childish
Pastime
Man
receiv'd
The
future
Strength
,
and
Ornament
of
Nations
.
Battus
,
our
great
Progenitor
,
now
touch'd
The
Lybian
Strand
;
when
the
fore-boding
Crow
Flew
on
the
Right
before
the
People
,
marking
The
Country
destin'd
the
auspicious
Seat
Of
future
Kings
,
and
Favor
of
the
God
,
Whose
Oath
is
sure
,
and
Promise
stands
Eternal
.
Or
Boedromian
hear'st
Thou
pleas'd
,
or
Clarian
,
Phoebus
,
great
King
?
for
diff'rent
are
Thy
Names
,
As
Thy
kind
Hand
has
founded
many
Cities
,
Or
dealt
benign
Thy
various
Gifts
to
Man
.
Carnean
let
Me
call
Thee
;
for
my
Country
Calls
Thee
Carnean
:
the
fair
Colony
Thrice
by
Thy
gracious
Guidance
was
transported
,
E'er
settl'd
in
Cyrene
;
there
W'appointed
Thy
annual
Feasts
,
kind
God
,
and
bless
thy
Altars
Smoaking
with
Hecatombs
of
slaughter'd
Bulls
;
As
Carnus
,
thy
High-Priest
,
and
favor'd
Friend
,
Had
er'st
ordain'd
;
and
with
mysterious
Rites
,
Our
great
Forefathers
taught
their
Sons
to
worship
.
Io
Carnean
Phoebus
!
Io
Pean
!
The
yellow
Crocus
there
,
and
fair
Narcissus
Reserve
the
Honors
of
their
Winter-Store
,
To
deck
Thy
Temple
;
'till
returning
Spring
Diffuses
Nature's
various
Pride
;
and
Flow'rs
Innumerable
,
by
the
soft
South-west
Open'd
,
and
gather'd
by
Religious
Hands
,
Rebound
their
Sweets
from
th'odorif'rous
Pavement
.
Perpetual
Fires
shine
hallow'd
on
Thy
Altars
.
When
Annual
the
Carnean
Feast
is
held
,
The
warlike
Libyans
clad
in
Armor
,
lead
The
Dance
,
with
clanging
Swords
and
Shields
They
beat
The
dreadful
Measure
:
in
the
Chorus
join
Their
Women
,
Brown
but
Beautiful
:
such
Rites
To
Thee
well-pleasing
.
Nor
had
yet
Thy
Votaries
,
From
Greece
transplanted
,
touch'd
Cyrene's
Banks
,
And
Lands
determin'd
for
their
last
Abodes
;
But
wander'd
thro'
Azilis'
horrid
Forrest
Dispers'd
;
when
from
Myrtusa's
craggy
Brow
,
Fond
of
the
Maid
,
auspicious
to
the
City
,
Which
must
hereafter
bear
her
favor'd
Name
,
Thou
Gracious
deign'st
to
let
the
Fair
One
view
Her
Typic
People
;
Thou
with
Pleasure
taught'st
Her
To
draw
the
Bow
,
to
slay
the
shaggy
Lyon
,
And
stop
the
spreading
Ruin
of
the
Plains
.
Happy
the
Nymph
,
who
honor'd
by
Thy
Passion
,
Was
aided
by
thy
Pow'r
!
The
monstrous
Python
Durst
tempt
Thy
Wrath
in
vain
:
for
dead
He
fell
,
To
thy
great
Strength
,
and
golden
Arms
unequal
.
Io
!
while
Thy
unerring
Hand
elanc'd
Another
,
and
another
Dart
;
The
People
Joyful
repeated
,
Io
!
Io
Pean
!
Elance
the
Dart
,
Apollo
:
for
the
Safety
,
And
Health
of
Man
,
gracious
Thy
Mother
bore
Thee
.
Envy
Thy
latest
Foe
suggested
thus
:
Like
Thee
I
am
a
Pow'r
Immortal
;
therefore
To
Thee
dare
speak
.
How
can'st
Thou
favor
partial
Those
Poets
who
write
little
?
Vast
and
Great
Is
what
I
Love
:
The
far
extended
Ocean
To
a
small
Riv'let
I
prefer
.
Apollo
Spurn'd
Envy
with
His
Foot
;
and
thus
the
God
:
Dæmon
,
the
head-long
Current
of
Euphrates
,
Assyrian
River
,
copious
runs
,
but
Muddy
;
And
carries
forward
with
his
stupid
Force
Polluting
Dirt
;
His
Torrent
still
augmenting
,
His
Wave
still
more
defil'd
:
mean
while
the
Nymphs
Melissan
,
Sacred
and
Recluse
to
Ceres
,
Studious
to
have
their
Off'rings
well
receiv'd
,
And
fit
for
Heav'nly
Use
,
from
little
Urns
Pour
Streams
select
,
and
Purity
of
Waters
.
Io
!
Apollo
,
mighty
King
,
let
Envy
Ill-judging
and
Verbose
,
from
Lethe's
Lake
Draw
Tons
unmeasurable
;
while
Thy
Favor
Administers
to
my
ambitious
Thirst
The
wholesome
Draught
from
Aganippe's
Spring
Genuine
,
and
with
soft
Murmurs
gently
rilling
Adown
the
Mountains
,
where
Thy
Daughters
haunt
.