A boar inflicted with his ivory tusk. My venerable mother and thyself
Had sent me to her sire Autolicus,
To take the gifts which, when he hither came,
My grandsire promised smiling in consent.
Come now, and I will name the trees which once Within this well-laid orchard thou didst give Thy young Ulysses. For I ask'd them each When yet a boy, and rambling at thy side Within the garden. Through the Through the very ranks Of trees we walk'd, and thou didst name them all. Thirteen with pears were laden that thou gavest, With apples ten, and forty hung with figs; And thou distinctly said'st that thou would'st give Yet fifty rows of vines, and each was full Of clusters; every kind of grape was there When Jove's kind seasons weigh'd the tendrils down."
He said; the old man's knees sank under him, And his heart melted, for he recognised
The signs Ulysses told. Round his dear son He cast his arms. The brave long-suffering chief Drew him with joy half-lifeless to his breast.
PART OF THE HYMN TO APOLLO.
NINE days and nights Latona proved the pains Of hopeless labour; but within the isle
The best of Goddesses stood near with aid. Rhea, Dione, Themis searching truth, And Amphitrite of the murmuring sea, And all the fair Immortals, her except Of snow-white arms; for Juno sate apart Within the palace of Cloud-gatherer Jove. Alone Lucina, speeder of the throes,
Knew not the coming birth. She also sate Upon Olympus' summit underneath
The golden clouds, by Juno's wile, who there Detain'd her; envious that the fair of locks, Latona, should bring forth a noble son
And valiant. Then from the well-planted isle Those Goddesses sent Iris to conduct
Lucina thither: promising, as gift,
A weighty necklace strung with threads of gold,
Nine cubits length. They bade her stealthily Call forth Lucina; lest the white-arm'd Queen Should after turn her by insidious words, And so avert her coming. Iris heard,
And fleet, wind-footed, pass'd with running speed Away, and swiftly cross'd the middle space. When to the dwelling of the Gods she came, The steep Olympus, quickly to the gate She called Lucina; and with winged speech Told all th' Olympian Goddesses had said, And moved the heart within her by the words Of soft persuasion. So they came like doves, With fearful fluttering steps; and as the feet Of the birth-speeding Goddess touch'd the isle, The labour seiz'd Latona, and her hour Was come. Around a palm-tree's stem she threw Her linked arms, and press'd her bowed knees On the soft meadow: Earth beneath her smiled, And Phoebus leap'd to light. The Goddesses Scream'd in their joy. There, oh thou archer God!
Those Goddesses imbathed thee in fair streams
With chaste and pure immersion, swathing thee
With new-wove mantle, white, of delicate folds,
Clasp'd with a golden belt. golden belt.
Fed not Apollo of the golden sword;
But Themis with immortal hands infused Nectar and bland Ambrosia. Then rejoiced Latona that her boy had sprung to light, Valiant, and bearer of the bow; but when, Oh Phoebus! thou hadst tasted with thy lips Ambrosial food, the golden swathes no more Withheld thee panting, nor could bands restrain; But every ligament was snapt in scorn.
Straight did Apollo stand in Heaven, and face Th' Immortals: "Give me," cried the boy, "a harp And bending bow; and let me prophesy
To mortal man th' unerring will of Jove."
Far-darting Phoebus of the flowing hair
Down from the broad-track'd mountain pass'd, and all
Those Goddesses look'd on in ravish'd awe;
And all the Delian isle was heap'd with gold, So gladden'd by his presence, the fair son Of Jove and of Latona. For he chose That island as his home o'er every isle
Or continent, and loved it in his soul. It flourish'd like a mountain, when its top Is hid with flowering blossoms of a wood.
God of the silver bow, far-darting King! Thou too hast trod the craggy Cynthus' heights, And sometimes wander'd to the distant isles And various haunts of men; and many fanes Are thine, and groves thick set with gloomy trees: Thine all the caverns, and the topmost cliffs Of lofty mountains, and sea-rolling streams. But still, oh Phoebus! in the Delian isle Thy heart delighteth most. Th' Ionians there In trailing robes before thy temple throng, With their young children and their modest
And mindful of thy honour charm thee then With cestus combats, and with bounding dance, And song, in stated contest. At the sight
Of that Ionian crowd a man would say
That all were blooming with immortal youth:
So looking on the gallant mien of all, And ravishing his mind while he beheld The fair-form'd men, the women with broad zone
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