Things of a lefs, and equal value, turn
On the blind lot of an inverted urn.
Not chance, O Jove, attain'd heaven's high abodes,
But thy own Power advanc'd thee o'er the Gods,
Thy Power that whirls thy rapid chariot on,
Thy Power, the great affeffor of thy throne.
Difmift by thee, th' imperial eagle flies
Charg'd with thy figns and thunders through the fkies:
To me and mine glad omens may fhe bring,
And to the left extend her golden wing.
Thou to inferior Gods haft well affign'd
The various ranks and orders of mankind :
Of these the wandering merchants claim the care;
Of thofe the Poets, and the fons of war:
Kings claim from thee their titles and their reign
O'er all degrees, the foldier and the swain.
Vulcan prefides o'er all who bear the mafs,
Bend the tough fteel, and shape the tortur'd brass.
Diana those adore who spread the toils;
To Mars the warrior dedicates his fpoils.
The bard to Phoebus ftrikes the living ftrings,
Jove's royal province is the care of kings ;
For kings fubmiffive hear thy high decree,
And hold their delegated powers from thee.
Thy name the judge and legislator awes,
When this enacts, and that directs the laws:
Cities and realms thy great protection prove;
Thefe bend to monarchs, as they bend to Jove.
Though to thy fcepter'd fons thy will extends,
The proper means proportion'd to their ends;
All are not favour'd in the fame degree,
For power fupreme belongs to Ptolemy;
What no inferior limitary king
Could in a length of years to ripenefs bring,
Sudden his word performs: his boundless power
Compleats the work of ages in an hour:
While others labour through a wretched reign,
Their schemes are blafted, and their counfels vain.
Hail Saturn's mighty fon, to whom we owe
Life, health, and every bleffing here below!
Who shall in worthy ftrains thy name adorn ?
What living bard? what Poet yet unborn?
Hail and all hail again; in equal fhares
Give wealth and virtue, and indulge our prayers.
Hear us, great king, unless they meet combin'd,
Each is but half a blessing to mankind.
Then grant us both, that blended they may prove
A doubled happinefs, and worthy Jove.
The Second HYMN of CALLIMACHUS to APOLLO.
AH! how Apollo's hallow'd laurels wave?
How shakes the temple from its inmost cave?
Fly, ye profane; for lo! in heavenly state
The Power defcends, and thunders at the gate.
See, how the Delian palms with reverence nod!
Hark! how the tuneful fwans confefs the God!
Leap from your hinges, burft your brazen bars,
Ye facred doors; the God, the God appears.
Ye youth, begin the fong; in choirs advance;
Wake all your lyres, and form the measur'd dance.
No impious wretch his holy eyes have view'd,
None but the juft, the innocent, and good.
To see the power confeft your minds prepare,
Refin'd from guilt, and purify'd by prayer.
So may you mount in youth the nuptial bed,
grace with filver hairs your aged head;
So the proud walls with lofty turrets crown,
And lay foundations for the rifing town.
Apollo's fong with awful filence hear;
Ev'n the wild feas the facred fong revere:
Nor wretched Thetis dares to make her moan,
For great Apollo flew her darling fon.
When the loud Iö-Pæans ring around,
She checks her fighs, and trembles at the found.
Fixt in her grief muft Niobe appear,
Nor through the Phrygian marble drop a tear;
Still, though a rock, fhe dreads Apollo's bow,
And ftands her own fad monument of woe.
Sound the loud Iö's, and the temple rend,
With the bleft Gods 'tis impious to contend.
In his audacious rage would brave the skies
He; who the power of Ptolemy defies,
(From whence the mighty bleffing was bestow'd),
Or challenge Phoebus, and refift the God.
Beyond the night your hallow'd ftrains prolong,
Till the day rifes on th' unfinish'd fong.
Nor lefs his various attributes require,
So fhall he honour, and reward the choir;
For honour is his gift, and high above
He fhines, and graces the right-hand of Jove :
With beamy gold his robes divinely glow,
His harp, his quiver, and his Lictian bow;
His feet how fair and glorious to behold!
Shod in rich fandals of refulgent gold!
Wealth ftill attends him, and vaft gifts bestow'd,
Adorn the Delphic temple of the god.
Eternal charms his youthful cheeks diffufe;
His treffes dropping with ambrofial dews,
Pale Death before him flies, with dire Difeafe,
And Health and Life are wafted in the breeze.
To thee, great Phoebus, various arts belong,
To wing the dart, and guide the Poet's fong:
Th' enlighten'd prophet feels thy flames divine,
And all the dark events of lots are thine.
By Phœbus taught, the fage prolongs our breath,
And in its flight fufpends the dart of death.
To thy great name, O Nomian power, we cry,
Ere fince the time when, ftooping from the fky,
To tend Admetus' herds thy godhead chofe,
On the fair banks where clear Amphryfus flows:
Bleft are the herds, and bleft the flocks, that lie
Beneath the influence of Apollo's eye.
The meads re-echo'd to the bleating lambs,
And the kids leap'd, and frisk'd around their dams;
Her weight of milk each ewe dragg'd on with pain,
And drop'd a double offspring on the plain.
On great Apollo for his aid we call,
To build th' town and raise th' embattled wall:
He, while an infant, fram'd the wondrous plan,
In fair Ortygia, for the use of man.
When young Diana urg'd her fylvan toils,
From Cynthus' tops fhe brought her favage spoils;
The heads of mountain-goats, and antlers lay
Spread wide around, the trophies of the day:
Of thefe a ftructure he compos'd with art,
In order rang'd, and just in every part;
And by that model taught us to dispose
The rifing city, and with walls inclofe;
Where the foundations of the pile should lie,
Or towers and battlements should reach the sky.
Apollo fent th' aufpicious crow before,
When our great founder touch'd the Libyan fhore:
Full on the right he flew to call him on,
And guide the people to their deftin'd town;
Which to a race of kings Apollo vow'd,
And fix'd for ever ftands the promife of the God.
Or hear'st thou, while thy honours we proclaim,
Thy Boëdromian, or thy Clarian name ?
(For to the power are various names affign'd
From cities rais'd, and bleffings to mankind.)
In thy Carnean title I rejoice,
And join my grateful country's public voice.
Ere to Cyrene's realms our course we bore,
Thrice were we led by thee from shore to shore ;
Till our progenitor the region gain'd,
And annual rites and annnual feafts ordain'd.
When at thy prophet Carnus' will, we rais'd
A glorious temple; and the altars blaz'd
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