Apollo

CALLICLES (front below)     Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,     Thick breaks the red flame;     All Etna heaves fiercely     Her forest-clothd frame.     Not here, O Apollo     Are haunts meet for thee.     But, where Helicon breaks down     In cliff to the sea,     Where the moon-silverd inlets     Send far their light voice     Up the still vale of Thisbe,     O speed, and rejoice!     On the sward at the cliff-top     Lie strewn the white flocks;     On the cliff-side the pigeons     Roost deep in the rocks.     In the moonlight the shepherds,     Soft lulld by the rills,     Lie wrapt in their blankets,     Asleep on the hills.     What forms are these coming     So white through the gloom:     What garments out-glistening     The gold-flowerd broom?     What sweet-breathing presence     Out-perfumes the thyme?     What voices enrapture     The nights balmy prime?     Tis Apollo comes leading     His choir, the Nine.     The leader is fairest,     But all are divine.     They are lost in the hollows!     They stream up again!     What seeks on this mountain     The glorified train?     They bathe on this mountain,     In the spring by their road;     Then on to Olympus,     Their endless abode!     Whose praise do they mention     Of what is it told?     What will be for ever;     What was from of old.     First hymn they the Father     Of all things; and then     The rest of immortals,     The action of men.     The day in his hotness,     The strife with the palm;     The night in her silence,     The stars in their calm.