Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HYMN: 2. TO APOLLO, by CALLIMACHUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HYMN: 2. TO APOLLO, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Hah! How the laurel, great apollo's tree
Last Line: Adown the mountains where thy daughters haunt.
Alternate Author Name(s): Kallimachos
Subject(s): Apollo; Beauty; Envy; Love; Mythology - Classical; Youth


HAH! how the laurel, great Apollo's tree,
And all the cavern shakes! far off, far off,
The man that is unhallowed: for the god,
The god approaches. Hark! he knocks; the gates
Feel the glad impulse: and the severed bars
Submissive clink against their brazen portals.
Why do the Delian palms incline their boughs,
Self-moved: and hovering swans, their throats released,
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, favoured 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 Io, Io Pean! nor dares Thetis
Longer bewail her loved Achilles' death;
For Phoebus was his foe. Nor must sad Niobe
In fruitless sorrow persevere, or weep
Even through the Phrygian marble. Hapless mother!
Whose fondness could compare her mortal offspring
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 power of heaven, for power from heaven
Derives; and monarchs rule by gods appointed.
Recite Apollo's praise, till night draws on,
The ditty still unfinished; 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 honour, 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 mineral rises,
And earth reveals her treasures. Youth and beauty
Eternal deck his cheek; from his fair head
Perfumes distil their sweets; and cheerful health,
His duteous handmaid, through the air improved,
With lavish hand diffuses scents ambrosial.
The spear-man's arm by thee, great god, directed,
Sends forth a certain wound. The laurelled bard,
Inspired 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 Heaven
Descending, thou on fair Amphrysus' banks
Didst guard Admetus' herds. Sith hence the cow
Produced an ampler store of milk; the she-goat
Not without pain dragged her distended udder;
And ewes, that erst brought forth but single lambs,
Now dropped their twofold burthens. Blessed the cattle,
On which Apollo cast his favouring eye!
But Phoebus, thou to man beneficent,
Delight'st in building cities. Bright Diana,
Kind sister to thy infant-deity,
New-weaned, and just arising from the cradle,
Brought hunted wild goats' heads, and branching antlers
Of stags, the fruit and honour of her toil.
These with discerning hand thou knewst to range
(Young as thou wast), and in the well-framed models,
With emblematic skill and mystic order,
Thou show'dst, where towers or battlements should rise;
Where gates should open; or where walls should compass:
While from thy childish pastime man received
The future strength and ornament of nations.
Battus, our great progenitor, now touched
The Libyan strand; when the foreboding crow
Flew on the right before the people, marking
The country, destined the auspicious seat
Of future kings, and favour of the god,
Whose oath is sure, and promise stands eternal.
Or Boedromian hear'st thou pleased, or Clarian,
Phoebus, great king? for different 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,
Ere settled in Cyrene; there we appointed
Thy annual feasts, kind god, and bless thy altars
Smoking with hecatombs of slaughtered bulls;
As Carnus, thy high-priest and favoured friend,
Had erst ordained; 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 honours of their winter-store,
To deck thy temple; till returning spring
Diffuses nature's various pride; and flowers
Innumerable, by the soft south-west
Opened, and gathered by religious hands,
Rebound their sweets from the odoriferous pavement.
Perpetual fires shine hallowed on thy altars,
When annual the Carnean feast is held.
The warlike Libyans, clad in armour, 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, touched Cyrene's banks,
And lands determined for their last abodes;
But wandered through Azilis' horrid forest
Dispersed; when from Myrtusa's craggy brow,
Fond of the maid, auspicious to the city,
Which must hereafter bear her favoured name,
Thou gracious deignst to let the fair one view
Her typic people; thou with pleasure taughtst her
To draw the bow, to slay the shaggy lion,
And stop the spreading ruin of the plains.
Happy the nymph, who honoured by thy passion,
Was aided by thy power! 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 elanced
Another, and another dart; the people
Joyfully 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 power immortal; therefore
To thee dare speak. How canst thou favour partial
Those poets who write little? Vast and great
Is what I love: the far-extended ocean
To a small rivulet I prefer. Apollo
Spurned Envy with his foot; and thus the god:
Demon, 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 defiled; meanwhile the nymphs
Melissan, sacred and recluse to Ceres,
Studious to have their offerings well received,
And fit for heavenly 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 tuns unmeasurable; while thy favour
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.





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