The radiant Sun’s divine renown diffuse,
Jove’s daughter, great Calliope, my Muse;
Whom ox-ey’d Euryphaëssa gave birth
To the bright Seed of starry Heaven and Earth.
For the far-fam’d Hyperion took to wife
His sister Euryphaëssa, that life
Of his high race gave to these lovely three:
Aurora, with the rosy-wrists; and She
That owns th’ enamouring tresses, the bright Moon;
Together with the never-wearied Sun,
Who (his horse mounting) gives both mortals light
And all th’ Immortals. Even to horror, bright
A blaze burns from his golden burgonet,
Which to behold exceeds the sharpest set
Of any eye’s intention, beams so clear
It all ways pours abroad. The glorious cheer
Of his far-shining face up to his crown
Casts circular radiance, that comes streaming down
About his temples, his bright cheeks, and all,
Retaining the refulgence of their fall.
About his bosom flows so fine a weed
As doth the thinness of the wind exceed
In rich context; beneath whose deep folds fly
His masculine horses round about the sky,
Till in this hemisphere he renders stay
T’ his gold-yok’d coach and coursers; and his way,
Let down by heaven, the heavenly coachman makes
Down to the ocean, where his rest he takes.
My salutations then, fair King, receive,
And in propitious returns relieve
My life with mind-fit means; and then from thee,
And all the race of complete Deity,
My song shall celebrate those half-god States,
That yet sad death’s condition circulates,
And whose brave acts the Gods show men that they
As brave may aim at, since they can but die.
A Hymn to the Moon
The Moon, now, Muses, teach me to resound,
Whose wide wings measure such a world of ground;
Jove’s daughter, deck’d with the mellifluous tongue,
And seen in all the sacred art of song.
Whose deathless brows when she from heaven displays,
All earth she wraps up in her orient rays.
A heaven of ornament in earth is rais’d
When her beams rise. The subtle air is sais’d
Of delicate splendour from her crown of gold.
And when her silver bosom is extoll’d,
Wash’d in the ocean, in day’s equall’d noon
Is midnight seated; but when she puts on
Her far-off-sprinkling-lustre evening weeds,
(The month is two cut; her high-breasted steeds
Man’d all with curl’d flames, put in coach and all,
Her huge orb fill’d,) her whole trims then exhale
Unspeakable splendours from the glorious sky.
And out of that state mortal men imply
Many predictions. And with her then,
In love mix’d, lay the King of Gods and men;
By whom made fruitful, she Pandea bore,
And added her state to th’ Immortal Store.
Hail, Queen, and Goddess, th’ ivory-wristed Moon
Divine, prompt, fair-hair’d! With thy grace begun,
My Muse shall forth, and celebrate the praise
Of men whose states the Deities did raise
To semi-deities; whose deeds t’ endless date
Muse-lov’d and sweet-sung poets celebrate.
A Hymn to Castor and Pollux
Jove’s fair Sons, father’d by th’ Oebalian king,
Muses well-worth-all men’s beholdings, sing!
The dear birth that bright-ankl’d Leda bore;
Horse-taming Castor, and, the conqueror
Of tooth-tongu’d Momus, Pollux; whom beneath
Steep-brow’d Taygetus she gave half-god breath,
In love mix’d with the black-clouds King of Heaven;
Who, both of men and ships, being tempest driven,
When Winter’s wrathful empire is in force
Upon th’ implacable seas, preserve the course.
For when the gusts begin, if near the shore,
The seamen leave their ship, and, evermore
Bearing two milk-white lambs aboard, they now
Kill them ashore, and to Jove’s issue vow,
When though their ship, in height of all the roar
The winds and waves confound, can live no more
In all their hopes, then suddenly appear
Jove’s saving Sons, who both their bodies bear
’Twixt yellow wings down from the sparkling pole,
Who straight the rage of those rude winds control,
And all the high-waves couch into the breast
Of th’ hoary seas. All which sweet signs of rest
To seamen’s labours their glad souls conceive,
And end to all their irksome grievance give.
So, once more, to the swift-horse-riding race
Of royal Tyndarus, eternal grace!
A Hymn to Men of Hospitality
Reverence a man with use propitious
That hospitable rites wants; and a house
(You of this city with the seat of state
To ox-ey’d Juno vow’d) yet situate
Near Pluto’s region. At the extreme base
Of whose so high-hair’d city, from the race
Of blue-wav’d Hebrus lovely fluent, grac’d
With Jove’s begetting, you divine cups taste.
EPIGRAMS AND OTHER POEMS
To Cuma
Lend hospitable rites and house-respect,
You that the virgin with the fair eyes deckt
Make fautress of your stately-seated town,
At foot of Sardes, with the high-hair’d crown,
Inhabiting rich Cuma; where ye taste
Of Hermus’ heavenly fluent, all embrac’d
By curl’d-head whirl pits; and whose waters move
From the divine seed of immortal Jove.