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 .