Nazrene Apollo, beautiful as bold,
Whose worship whirls the enthusiast Southern maid
To passion oft and madness, to behold
Thee limned so blooming fair—give, give thine aid!
Oh, by Irene’s love who undismayed
Unbound thee, pouring balm into each wound
The archers left—against the pillar laid—
When dead they thought thee who had only swooned;
By her who healed thee, raise that voice to mercy tuned!
XXIX.