Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE HOMERIC HYMN: THE THE DELIAN APOLLO, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE HOMERIC HYMN: THE THE DELIAN APOLLO, by                    
First Line: I shall remember - how can I forget?
Last Line: "god of the silver bow, whom leto bare - / leto, the lovely-tress'd"
Subject(s): Mythology - Classical


I

I SHALL remember—how can I forget?—
Apollo, the great Archer, as he strode
First adown Zeus's hall, and all asweat
Upstarted every god
With terror of that bowstring taut and shining.
Leto alone, divining,
Stood by the Thunderer, calm. The gear she took
From the lad's shoulder, all the sling undid,
Let slack the cord, shut down the quiver's lid,
Hung bow and quiver on one golden hook
Against a pillar of his father's house:
Then to the high throne led him up.—
And Zeus his father, tendering a cup
Of nectar, heavenly juice,
Bade his son welcome and the gods carouse.
So the Immortals sat them down again
And noisy pledged the twain—
Father and son, with Leto—Leto fain
Sith she had borne this archer-child to Zeus.

II

How shall I praise him fully or aright,
To whom all fields of song allotted are?
Of whom the mainland pastures breathe delight
To isle on isle afar?
Whose is the upland, whose the crag above,
Towering, whose is the stream cascading down
To wed the sea in any tidal cove
That holds a steep-to beach, a tiny fishing town?

III

Shall I recount how Leto bare thee, first,
Charmer of souls?—there as she fell forspent
On Cythnus, on the side of Delos rent
This way and that way, as the loud wind went
And from the continent
Captain'd the black wave on the cliff to burst.

IV

There was thy birth: yet thou art lord of all
The isles, and all the folk their surges bound,
Or whom the gate and wall
Of mainland cities tall.—
Crete, Athens or Eubœa, most renown'd
For ships, Ægina small.
And Peparethus, sea-wash'd roods of ground:
Ægae, Eiresiae, Pelion's ragged peak,
Athos of Thrace and Samos Thracian eke,
Syros, Phocaea—Ida shadowy
With pine forest—clear-cut Autocané,
Fair-stablished Imbros, Lemnos bleak,
Where for landing's far to seek;
Æalian Lesbos, royal throne
Once of Macàr; my Chios, brightest blest,
Hesperid in Ocean's nest:
Or craggy Mimas, sheer-brow'd Corycus,
Claros the clear, Æsagra sharp of crest,
Samos, the isle of waters; mountainous
Foreland of Mycalé; Miletus; Cos,
Town of the Meropes; the summit stiff
Of Cnidos; Carpathos,
Torn by the winds across;
Naxos, or Paros; or Rhenaea, nought but cliff.

V

All these did holy Leto voyage o'er
With Lord Apollo heavy in her womb,
If peradventure town of them or shore
Would give her shelter and a midwife room
For the great birth she bore.
But isle and city shook a-dread not dared
To welcome Him, not ev'n the wealthiest;
Until despair her brought
To Delos, and she lighted and besought,
And thus her prayer address'd:

VI

'Delos! Wilt thou be nursery to my son
Phoebus Apollo, and let raise a shrine?
None other god will ever choose thee—none—
Nor honour thee: nor e'er, methinks, shall thine
Be native wealth of cornland, herds of kine,
Or flocks of sheep:
But if thou keep
Holy the holy of Apollo's birth,
Hither shall come
Men from the ends of earth,
With fat of hecatomb
And alien incense to enrich thy dearth,
That hast no harvest of thine own to reap!'

VII

So the heart leapt of Delos to her prayer.—
'Leto—Princess—
Daughter of Corus—welcome! ay, and leve!
Welcome would I this Archer-child receive
In my poor wilderness:
For verily a sorry name I bear,
And this perchance might lift me rivalless
Among the nations wide.
But there has come a whisper in the air
I fear and will not hide,
This son of thine shall be fulfilled with pride.
Lord President,
Claiming first-fruit even of the Immortals' corn,
Let be the tilth of men weary and bent
Growing their acres. Dearly I'd repent
Then, when he, taking into eyes new-born,
Sunlight and sense of my so barren isle,
In discontent
And sudden infant scorn,
Spurned me so deep in sea—so near a mile—
That over me for ever should the strong
Wave wash—and over me his heel should pass
To blither temples leafier groves among:
And I should lie, alas!
Plunged by that heel,
A nest for the sea-urchin, and the seal
Dive thro' my caverns free, because
There man no longer was...
Yet, an thou willest give me oath, Divine,
That I be first for men Apollo's shrine,
And last to abide
His oracle, so be it! I am thine
And his, whose honour certes shall be wide.'

VIII

Then Leto, answering, sware the gods' great oath.—
'Earth and wide Heaven above, hear ye my troth,
And Styx that everlasting runs below,
Bind ye the most dread vow a god can owe.—
I charge me that Apollo's altar stand
Here, and a fragrant garth, and that, for both,
Delos have honour over every land.'

IX

Thus sworn, the oath was act.—
And Delos seal'd the pact,
And, for Apollo, blithely her received.
But Leto joyed not: for her loins were rack'd
Nine nights and days—her body heaved
In desperate pangs—till, summoned by her groaning,
Dione came,
Rhea, Ichnaea; Themis closed her claim,
Grey Amphitrité left her caverns moaning,
And goddesses innumerous to name
Ring'd Leto round. Natheless, no urgent call
Of one and all
Could pass where Hera sat, her white arms folding
Sullen, in Zeus's hall,
To her who hath the binding and the holding
Of birth, to Eilithyia, god's and man's
Great midwife—her, by Hera's jealous plans
Held in a golden cloud.
No cry, howe'er so loud
Of Leto, torn and wild
To bear her faultless child,
Might pierce that magic wall.
So Hera sat, nor stirr'd;
And Eilithyia drowsed nor ever heard.

X

Then did the goddesses hot counsel hold,
And call on Iris, from the isle to wing
Afoot, and swiftly Eilithyia fetch:
For guerdon promising
A necklace all of amber strung on gold
Nine cubits' stretch.
But strictly was she told
To take the Midwife privily apart
From Hera, and confide
The whispered word aside:
Lest Hera, hard of heart,
Should, after all, her ministration thwart.

XI

The which when Iris heard
Wind-footed she, fleeter than any bird,
On Heaven's floor
Set her to run: and flew
To where the immortal gods keep house above
Olympus. Eilithyia forth she drew,
Soft-tapping, to the door,
And whisper'd her the word
That might the Midwife's bowels of mercy move.
'Yea,' said the Midwife: and they two
Set course for Delos. Side by side they clove
The air, shy dove breasting by sister-dove.

XII

So Eilithyia levell'd o'er the surf
Her way to Delos: and the labouring throes
The longest, last,
Took hold on Leto, and her arms she cast
About a palm-tree, rocking to it close,
Pressing her knees into the tender turf
In agony to be eased. Wise Mother Earth
Smiled flowers, and understood—till of a pang,
Sudden, forth sprang
Phoebus Apollo to the light! and those,
Beholding, raised the jubilant Song of Birth,
Queen upon queen lifting her voice! Yea, then
Queen upon queen did all with busy hands
Let lift and bathe thee, baby-joy of men,
In water pure, and swathe in swaddling bands,
White, delicate of fold,
And round thine infant girth
Let bind a belt of gold.

XIII

Belted in gold, with sword of gold at hip,
The babe knew not his mother's teat:
'Twas Themis handsell'd his immortal lip
With provend meet
Whereof the high immortals drink and eat.
—While Leto languid, glad,
Thought only, he was hers, this lusty archer-lad.

XIV

But he, the Sun-God, did no sooner taste
That food divine than every swaddling-band
Burst strand by strand,
And burst the belt above his panting waist—
All hanging loose
About him as he stood and gave command:
'Fetch me my lyre, fetch me my curving bow!
And, taught by these, shall know
All men, through me, the unfaltering will of Zeus!'

XV

So spake the unshorn God, the Archer bold,
And turn'd to tread the ways of Earth so wide:
While they, all they, had marvel to behold
How Delos broke in gold
Beneath his feet, as on a mountain side
Sudden, in Spring, a bush is glorified
And canopied with blossom manifold.
—But he went swinging with a careless stride,
Proud, in his new artillery bedight,
Up rocky Cythnus, and the isles descried—
All his, and their inhabitants—for wide,
Wide as he roam'd, ran they in rivalry
To build him temples in a many groves.
And these be his, and all the isles he loves,
And every foreland height,
And every river hurrying to the sea.
But chief in thee,
Delos, as first it was, is his delight.—

XVI

Where the long-robed Ionians, each with mate
And children, pious to his altar throng,
And, decent, celebrate
His birth with boxing-match and dance and song:
So that a stranger, happening them among,
Would deem that these Ionians have no date,
Being ageless all so met:
And he should gaze
And marvel at their ways,
Health, wealth, the comely face
On man and woman—envying their estate—
And yet
You must be never able to forget.
You maids of Delos, dear ones, as ye raise
The hymn to Phoebus, Leto, Artemis,
In triune praise,
Then slide your song back upon ancient days
And men whose very name forgotten is,
And women who have lived and gone their ways.
And make them live agen,
Charming the tribes of men,
Whose dialects with pretty mimicries
Ye mock, so true
They almost woo
The stranger to believe he's singing too!

XVII

Speed me, Apollo: speed me, Artemis!
And you, my dears, farewell! Remember me
Hereafter if from any land that is
Some traveller question ye—
'Maidens, who was the sweetest man of speech
Fared hither, ever chanted on this beach?'
I you beseech
Make answer to him, civilly.—

XVIII

'Sir, he was just a blind man, and his home
In rocky Chios. But his songs were best,
And shall be ever in the days to come.'
Say that: and as I quest
In fair-wall'd cities far, I'll tell them there
(They'll list, for 'twill be true)
Of Delos and of you.
But chief and evermore my song shall be
Of Lord Apollo, Prince of archery,
God of the Silver Bow, whom Leto bare—
Leto, the lovely-tress'd.




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