The Hymns of Callimachus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse, With Explanatory Notes To which are added, Select Epigrams, and the Coma Berenices of the same Author, Six Hymns of Orpheus, and The Encomium of Ptolemy by Theocritus. By William Dodd |
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| 2. | THE Second Hymn of Callimachus.
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 | The Hymns of Callimachus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse, With Explanatory Notes |  |
23
THE Second Hymn of Callimachus.
To Apollo.
See, how the laurels hallow'd branches wave;
Hark, sounds tumultuous shake the trembling cave!
Far, ye profane, far off! with beauteous feet
Bright Phoebus comes, and thunders at the gate;
See the glad sign the Delian palm hath giv'n;
Sudden it bends: and hovering in the heav'n,
Soft sings the swan with melody divine:
Burst ope, ye bars, ye gates, your heads decline;
Decline your heads, ye sacred doors, expand:
He comes, the God of light, the God's at hand!
Hark, sounds tumultuous shake the trembling cave!
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Bright Phoebus comes, and thunders at the gate;
25
Sudden it bends: and hovering in the heav'n,
Soft sings the swan with melody divine:
Burst ope, ye bars, ye gates, your heads decline;
Decline your heads, ye sacred doors, expand:
He comes, the God of light, the God's at hand!
26
Begin the song, and tread the sacred ground
In mystic dance symphonious to the sound,
Begin young men: Apollo's eyes endure
None but the good, the perfect and the pure:
Who view the God, are great; but abject they
From whom he turns his favouring eyes away:
All-piercing God, in every place confest,
We will prepare, behold thee, and be blest.
In mystic dance symphonious to the sound,
Begin young men: Apollo's eyes endure
None but the good, the perfect and the pure:
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From whom he turns his favouring eyes away:
All-piercing God, in every place confest,
We will prepare, behold thee, and be blest.
He comes, young men; nor silent shou'd ye stand,
With harp or feet when Phoebus is at hand:
If e'er ye wish in happy youth to lead
The lovely female to the nuptial bed:
Or grace with silver locks the hoary head:
If e'er ye wish your cities to secure
On old foundations, prosperous, firm, and sure.
With harp or feet when Phoebus is at hand:
28
The lovely female to the nuptial bed:
Or grace with silver locks the hoary head:
If e'er ye wish your cities to secure
On old foundations, prosperous, firm, and sure.
29
My soul with rapture and delight surveys,
The youthful choir unwearied in their praise,
Ceaseless their lutes resounding; let the throng
With awful silence mark the solemn song:
Even roaring seas a glad attention bring,
Hush'd, while their own Apollo poets sing:
Nor Thetis self, unhappy mother, more
Her lov'd and lost Achilles dare deplore,
While Io, Io Pæan rings around:
Nay even sad Niobe reveres the sound:
Her tears the while, expressive of her woe,
No longer thro' the Phrygian marble flow:
Which stands a lasting monument to prove,
How vain each contest with the powers above.
The youthful choir unwearied in their praise,
Ceaseless their lutes resounding; let the throng
With awful silence mark the solemn song:
Even roaring seas a glad attention bring,
Hush'd, while their own Apollo poets sing:
Nor Thetis self, unhappy mother, more
Her lov'd and lost Achilles dare deplore,
30
Nay even sad Niobe reveres the sound:
Her tears the while, expressive of her woe,
No longer thro' the Phrygian marble flow:
Which stands a lasting monument to prove,
How vain each contest with the powers above.
31
Io again triumphant Io sing;
Who strives with heav'n, must strive with Egypt's king:
Who dare illustrous Ptolemy defy,
Must challenge Phoebus, and the avenging sky.
Who strives with heav'n, must strive with Egypt's king:
Who dare illustrous Ptolemy defy,
Must challenge Phoebus, and the avenging sky.
Immortal honours wait the happy throng,
Who grateful to the God resound the song:
And honours well Apollo can command
For high in power he sits at Jove's right hand.
But in the God such beaming glories blend,
The day unequal to his praise will end:
His praise, who cannot with delight resound,
Where such eternal theme for song is found?
A golden robe invests the glorious God,
His shining feet with golden sandals shod:
Gold are his harp, his quiver and his bow:
Round him bright riches in profusion flow:
His delphic fane illustrious proof supplies,
Where wealth immense fatigues the wondering eyes.
On his soft cheeks no tender down hath sprung,
A God, for ever fair, for ever young:
His fragrant locks distil ambrosial dews,
Drop gladness down, and blooming health diffuse:
Where'er the genial Panacea falls,
Health crowns the state, and safety guards the walls.
Who grateful to the God resound the song:
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For high in power he sits at Jove's right hand.
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The day unequal to his praise will end:
His praise, who cannot with delight resound,
Where such eternal theme for song is found?
A golden robe invests the glorious God,
His shining feet with golden sandals shod:
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Round him bright riches in profusion flow:
His delphic fane illustrious proof supplies,
Where wealth immense fatigues the wondering eyes.
On his soft cheeks no tender down hath sprung,
A God, for ever fair, for ever young:
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Drop gladness down, and blooming health diffuse:
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Health crowns the state, and safety guards the walls.
To powerful Phoebus numerous arts belong;
He strings the lyre and tunes the poet's song:
Guides from the twanging bow the feather'd darts,
And truths prophetic to the seer imparts:
Taught by his skill divine, physicians learn
Death to delay and mock the greedy urn.
He strings the lyre and tunes the poet's song:
Guides from the twanging bow the feather'd darts,
And truths prophetic to the seer imparts:
Taught by his skill divine, physicians learn
Death to delay and mock the greedy urn.
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Since by the love of young Admetus led,
His flock Apollo by Amphrysus fed:
The Nomian God, great shepherd we address
Our pastures to enrich, and flocks to bless:
And fertile flocks and pastures needs must prove,
On which Apollo shines with fruitful love:
No barren womb or udder there is found,
But every dam-twins sportive play around.
His flock Apollo by Amphrysus fed:
The Nomian God, great shepherd we address
Our pastures to enrich, and flocks to bless:
And fertile flocks and pastures needs must prove,
On which Apollo shines with fruitful love:
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But every dam-twins sportive play around.
By Phoebus honour'd and conducted, man
Of future cities forms the glorious plan:
The God himself the strong foundation lays,
On which their walls successful builders raise.
In lovely Delos, for his birth renown'd,
An infant yet, the noble art he found:
Each day Diana furnish'd from her toils
The horns of Cynthian goats, her sylvan spoils:
These did the God with won'drous art dispose,
And from his forming hands an altar rose:
With horns the strong foundations closely laid,
And round with horns the perfect structure made:
Thus from his pastime, and his sport, when young,
The future strength of favour'd nations sprung.
Of future cities forms the glorious plan:
The God himself the strong foundation lays,
On which their walls successful builders raise.
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An infant yet, the noble art he found:
Each day Diana furnish'd from her toils
The horns of Cynthian goats, her sylvan spoils:
These did the God with won'drous art dispose,
And from his forming hands an altar rose:
With horns the strong foundations closely laid,
And round with horns the perfect structure made:
Thus from his pastime, and his sport, when young,
The future strength of favour'd nations sprung.
40
Battus, illustrious chief, the truth can prove
To Lybia guided by Apollo's love:
The crow, auspicious leader, flew before,
And to the people mark'd the destin'd shore,
Where future kings shou'd reign in glorious state;
Thus swore Apollo—and his oath is fate.
To Lybia guided by Apollo's love:
The crow, auspicious leader, flew before,
And to the people mark'd the destin'd shore,
Where future kings shou'd reign in glorious state;
Thus swore Apollo—and his oath is fate.
41
Thee Boëdromian some, dread power, address,
And some implore the Clarian God to bless:
(For to thy merit various names belong:)
But none like lov'd Carnëan glads my song:
For so my country celebrates the God,
Who, thrice remov'd, here fix'd his firm abode.
From Sparta first, where first the name was sung
Carnëan, Theras led the chosen throng:
Great Theras, from a race of antient heroes sprung:
Recover'd Battus then from Thera's shore,
Thee and thy colony, bright Phœbus, bore;
In Lybia rais'd a temple to thy name,
And rites establish'd to record thy fame,
Which annual in his city are renew'd,
When bulls innumerous stain thy shrines with blood.
And some implore the Clarian God to bless:
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But none like lov'd Carnëan glads my song:
For so my country celebrates the God,
Who, thrice remov'd, here fix'd his firm abode.
From Sparta first, where first the name was sung
Carnëan, Theras led the chosen throng:
Great Theras, from a race of antient heroes sprung:
Recover'd Battus then from Thera's shore,
Thee and thy colony, bright Phœbus, bore;
In Lybia rais'd a temple to thy name,
And rites establish'd to record thy fame,
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When bulls innumerous stain thy shrines with blood.
Io, Carnëan, all-ador'd, we bring
The choicest beauties of the painted spring,
Now gentle Zephyr breaths the genial dew,
That gives each flower its variegated hue:
But on thy altars, when stern winter comes,
The fragrant saffron breaths its rich perfumes.
To thee eternal fires incessant rise,
And on thy shrine the living coal ne'er dies.
The choicest beauties of the painted spring,
Now gentle Zephyr breaths the genial dew,
That gives each flower its variegated hue:
But on thy altars, when stern winter comes,
The fragrant saffron breaths its rich perfumes.
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And on thy shrine the living coal ne'er dies.
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When the glad hours bring round the solemn day,
On which Carnëan rites his people pay,
With joy the God beholds the choir advance,
Brown Lybian dames, and warriors, to the dance.
Not yet the Dorian colony possest
The plenteous soil, by fruitful Cyrne blest,
But thro' Azilis' gloomy forests stray'd:
When Phoebus from Myrtusa's brow survey'd,
And to his lovely bride (whose saving hand
From the fierce lion free'd the ravag'd land)
With pleasing favour shew'd the typic race,
Gift of his love and object of her grace.
Phoebus no choir, Cyrene, more divine,
Nor state more favour'd, e'er beholds than thine:
Mindful for ever of the ravish'd dame
Whose wond'rous charms inspir'd and blest his flame:
And hence superior honours are bestow'd
By grateful sons of Battus on their God.
On which Carnëan rites his people pay,
With joy the God beholds the choir advance,
Brown Lybian dames, and warriors, to the dance.
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The plenteous soil, by fruitful Cyrne blest,
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When Phoebus from Myrtusa's brow survey'd,
And to his lovely bride (whose saving hand
From the fierce lion free'd the ravag'd land)
With pleasing favour shew'd the typic race,
Gift of his love and object of her grace.
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Nor state more favour'd, e'er beholds than thine:
Mindful for ever of the ravish'd dame
Whose wond'rous charms inspir'd and blest his flame:
And hence superior honours are bestow'd
By grateful sons of Battus on their God.
Sing Io Pæan, sing the sacred sound;
The Delphian people to thy honour found:
What time thy golden arrows plenteous flew,
And the fell Python, dreadful serpent, slew:
Swift from thy bow they pierc'd the monster's heart,
While still the people cry'd, “Elance the dart:”
Each shaft with acclamations they attend,
“Io, send forth, another arrow send:
“Thee thy blest mother bore, and pleas'd assign'd
“The willing Saviour of distrest mankind.”
The Delphian people to thy honour found:
What time thy golden arrows plenteous flew,
And the fell Python, dreadful serpent, slew:
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While still the people cry'd, “Elance the dart:”
Each shaft with acclamations they attend,
“Io, send forth, another arrow send:
“Thee thy blest mother bore, and pleas'd assign'd
“The willing Saviour of distrest mankind.”
50
Envy, grown pale with self-consuming cares,
Thus shed her poison in Apollo's ears:
“I hate the bard, who cannot pour his song,
“Full as the Sea, and as the torrent strong,”
The fiend Apollo scorning, spurn'd aside
With angry foot indignant, and replied:
“Headlong descends the deep Assyrian flood,
“But with pollution foul'd, and black with mud;
“While the Melissæ sacred waters bring,
“Not from each stream, but from the purest spring,
“From whose small urn the limpid current rills
“In clear perfection down the gladden'd hills.”
Thus shed her poison in Apollo's ears:
“I hate the bard, who cannot pour his song,
“Full as the Sea, and as the torrent strong,”
The fiend Apollo scorning, spurn'd aside
With angry foot indignant, and replied:
“Headlong descends the deep Assyrian flood,
“But with pollution foul'd, and black with mud;
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“Not from each stream, but from the purest spring,
“From whose small urn the limpid current rills
“In clear perfection down the gladden'd hills.”
Hail king, once more thy conquering arm extend,
To final ruin rancorous Envy send!
To final ruin rancorous Envy send!
End of the Hymn to Apollo.
| The Hymns of Callimachus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse, With Explanatory Notes | |