The Odysseys of Homer, together with the shorter poems · Homer
HYMNS
A Hymn to Apollo I will remember and express the praise Of heaven’s Far-darter, the fair King of days, Whom even the Gods themselves fear when he goes Through Jove’s high house; and when his goodly bows He goes to bend, all from their thrones arise, And cluster near, t’ admire his faculties. Only Latona stirs not from her seat Close by the Thund’rer, till her Son’s retreat From his dread archery; but then she goes, Slackens his string, and shuts his quiver close, And (having taken to her hand his bow, From off his able shoulders) doth bestow Upon a pin of gold the glorious tiller, The pin of gold fix’d in his father’s pillar. Then doth She to his throne his state uphold, Where his great Father, in a cup of gold, Serves him with nectar, and shows all the grace Of his great son. Then th’ other Gods take place; His gracious mother glorying to bear So great an archer, and a son so clear. All hail, O blest Latona! to bring forth An issue of such all-out-shining worth, Royal Apollo, and the Queen that loves The hurls of darts.
She in th’ Ortygian groves, And he in cliffy Delos, leaning on The lofty Oros, and being built upon By Cynthus’ prominent, that his head rears Close to the palm that Inops’ fluent cheers. How shall I praise thee, far being worthiest praise, O Phœbus? To whose worth the law of lays In all kinds is ascrib’d, if feeding flocks By continent or isle. All eminent’st rocks Did sing for joy, hill-tops, and floods in song Did break their billows, as they flow’d along To serve the sea; the shores, the seas, and all Did sing as soon as from the lap did fall Of blest Latona thee the joy of man. Her child-bed made the mountain Cynthian In rocky Delos, the sea-circled isle, On whose all sides the black seas brake their pile, And overflow’d for joy, so frank a gale The singing winds did on their waves exhale.
Here born, all mortals live in thy commands, Whoever Crete holds, Athens, or the strands Of th’ isle Ægina, or the famous land For ships (Eubœa), or Eresia, Or Peparethus bord’ring on the sea, Ægas, or Athos that doth Thrace divide And Macedon; or Pelion, with the pride Of his high forehead; or the Samian isle, That likewise lies near Thrace; or Scyrus’ soil; Ida’s steep tops; or all that Phocis fill; Or Autocanes, with the heaven-high hill; Or populous Imber; Lemnos without ports; Or Lesbos, fit for the divine resorts; And sacred soil of blest Æolion; Or Chios that exceeds comparison For fruitfulness; with all the isles that lie Embrac’d with seas; Mimas, with rocks so high; Or lofty-crown’d Corycius; or the bright Charos; or Æsagæus’ dazzling height; Or watery Samos; Mycale, that bears Her brows even with the circles of the spheres; Miletus; Cous, that the city is Of voice-divided-choice humanities; High Cnidus; Carpathus, still strook with wind; Naxos, and Paros; and the rocky-min’d Rugged Rhenæa. Yet through all these parts Latona, great-grown with the King of darts, Travell’d; and tried if any would become To her dear birth an hospitable home.
All which extremely trembled, shook with fear, Nor durst endure so high a birth to bear In their free states, though, for it, they became Never so fruitful; till the reverend Dame Ascended Delos, and her soil did seize With these wing’d words: “O Delos! Wouldst thou please To be my son Apollo’s native seat, And build a wealthy fane to one so great, No one shall blame or question thy kind deed. Nor think I, thou dost sheep or oxen feed In any such store, or in vines exceed, Nor bring’st forth such innumerable plants, Which often make the rich inhabitants Careless of Deity. If thou then shouldst rear A fane to Phœbus, all men would confer Whole hecatombs of beeves for sacrifice, Still thronging hither; and to thee would rise Ever unmeasur’d odours, shouldst thou long Nourish thy King thus; and from foreign wrong The Gods would guard thee; which thine own address Can never compass for thy barrenness.” She said, and Delos joy’d, replying thus: “Most happy sister of Saturnius! I gladly would with all means entertain The King your son, being now despised of men, But should be honour’d with the greatest then.
Yet this I fear, nor will conceal from thee: Your son, some say, will author misery In many kinds, as being to sustain A mighty empire over Gods and men, Upon the holy-gift-giver the Earth. And bitterly I fear that, when his birth Gives him the sight of my so barren soil, He will contemn, and give me up to spoil, Enforce the sea to me, that ever will Oppress my heart with many a wat’ry hill. And therefore let him choose some other land, Where he shall please, to build at his command Temple and grove, set thick with many a tree. For wretched polypuses breed in me Retiring chambers, and black sea-calves den In my poor soil, for penury of men. And yet, O Goddess, wouldst thou please to swear The Gods’ great oath to me, before thou bear Thy blessed son here, that thou wilt erect A fane to him, to render the effect Of men’s demands to them before they fall, Then will thy son’s renown be general, Men will his name in such variety call, And I shall then be glad his birth to bear.”
This said, the Gods’ great oath she thus did swear: “Know this, O Earth! broad heaven’s inferior sphere, And of black Styx the most infernal lake, (Which is the gravest oath the Gods can take) That here shall ever rise to Phœbus’ name An odorous fane and altar; and thy fame Honour, past all isles else, shall see him employ’d.” Her oath thus took and ended, Delos joy’d in mighty measure that she should become To far-shot Phœbus’ birth the famous home. Latona then nine days and nights did fall In hopeless labour; at whose birth were all Heaven’s most supreme and worthy Goddesses, Dione, Rhæa, and th’ Exploratress Themis, and Amphitrite that will be Pursu’d with sighs still; every Deity, Except the snowy-wristed wife of Jove, Who held her moods aloft, and would not move; Only Lucina (to whose virtue vows Each childbirth patient) heard not of her throes, But sat, by Juno’s counsel, on the brows Of broad Olympus, wrapp’d in clouds of gold. Whom Jove’s proud wife in envy did withhold, Because bright-lock’d Latona was to bear A son so faultless and in force so clear.
The rest Thaumantia sent before, to bring Lucina to release the envied king, Assuring her, that they would straight confer A carcanet, nine cubits long, on her, All woven with wires of gold. But charg’d her, then, To call apart from th’ ivory-wristed Queen The childbirth-guiding Goddess, for just fear Lest, her charge utter’d in Saturnia’s ear, She, after, might dissuade her from descent. When wind-swift-footed Iris knew th’ intent Of th’ other Goddesses, away she went, And instantly she pass’d the infinite space ’Twixt earth and heaven; when, coming to the place Where dwelt th’ Immortals, straight without the gate She gat Lucina, and did all relate The Goddesses commanded, and inclin’d To all that they demanded her dear mind. And on their way they went, like those two doves That, walking highways, every shadow moves Up from the earth, forc’d with their natural fear. When ent’ring Delos, She, that is so dear To dames in labour, made Latona straight Prone to delivery, and to wield the weight Of her dear burthen with a world of ease. When, with her fair hand, she a palm did seize, And, staying her by it, stuck her tender knees Amidst the soft mead, that did smile beneath Her sacred labour; and the child did breathe The air in th’ instant.
All the Goddesses Brake in kind tears and shrieks for her quick ease, And thee, O archer Phœbus, with waves clear Wash’d sweetly over, swaddled with sincere And spotless swathbands; and made then to flow About thy breast a mantle, white as snow, Fine, and new made; and cast a veil of gold Over thy forehead. Nor yet forth did hold Thy mother for thy food her golden breast, But Themis, in supply of it, address’d Lovely Ambrosia, and drunk off to thee A bowl of nectar, interchangeably With her immortal fingers serving thine. And when, O Phœbus, that eternal wine Thy taste had relish’d, and that food divine, No golden swathband longer could contain Thy panting bosom; all that would constrain Thy soon-eas’d Godhead, every feeble chain Of earthy child-rites, flew in sunder all. And then didst thou thus to the Deities call: “Let there be given me my lov’d lute and bow, I’ll prophesy to men, and make them know Jove’s perfect counsels.” This said, up did fly From broad-way’d Earth the unshorn Deity, Far-shot Apollo. All th’ Immortals stood In steep amaze to see Latona’s brood.
All Delos, looking on him, all with gold Was loaden straight, and joy’d to be extoll’d By great Latona so, that she decreed Her barrenness should bear the fruitful’st seed Of all the isles and continents of earth, And lov’d her from her heart so for her birth. For so she flourish’d, as a hill that stood Crown’d with the flow’r of an abundant wood. And thou, O Phœbus, bearing in thy hand Thy silver bow, walk’st over every land, Sometimes ascend’st the rough-hewn rocky hill Of desolate Cynthus, and sometimes tak’st will To visit islands, and the plumps of men. And many a temple, all ways, men ordain To thy bright Godhead; groves, made dark with trees, And never shorn, to hide the Deities, All high-lov’d prospects, all the steepest brows Of far-seen hills, and every flood that flows Forth to the sea, are dedicate to thee. But most of all thy mind’s alacrity Is rais’d with Delos; since, to fill thy fane, There flocks so many an Ionian, With ample gowns that flow down to their feet, With all their children, and the reverend sweet Of all their pious wives.
And these are they That (mindful of thee) even thy Deity Render more spritely with their champion fight, Dances, and songs, perform’d to glorious sight, Once having publish’d, and proclaim’d their strife. And these are acted with such exquisite life That one would say, “Now, the Ionian strains Are turn’d Immortals, nor know what age means.” His mind would take such pleasure from his eye, To see them serv’d by all mortality, Their men so human, women so well grac’d, Their ships so swift, their riches so increas’d, Since thy observance, who, being all before Thy opposites, were all despis’d and poor. And to all these this absolute wonder add, Whose praise shall render all posterities glad: The Delian virgins are thy handmaids all, And, since they serv’d Apollo, jointly fall Before Latona, and Diana too, In sacred service, and do therefore know How to make mention of the ancient trims Of men and women, in their well-made hymns, And soften barbarous nations with their songs, Being able all to speak the several tongues Of foreign nations, and to imitate Their musics there, with art so fortunate That one would say, there everyone did speak, And all their tunes in natural accents break, Their songs so well compos’d are, and their art To answer all sounds is of such desert.
But come, Latona, and thou King of flames, With Phœbe, rect’ress of chaste thoughts in dames Let me salute ye, and your graces call Hereafter to my just memorial. And you, O Delian virgins, do me grace, When any stranger of our earthy race, Whose restless life affliction hath in chace, Shall hither come and question you, who is, To your chaste ears, of choicest faculties In sacred poesy, and with most right Is author of your absolut’st delight, Ye shall yourselves do all the right ye can To answer for our name:—“The sightless man Of stony Chios. All whose poems shall In all last ages stand for capital.” This for your own sakes I desire, for I Will propagate mine own precedency As far as earth shall well-built cities bear, Or human conversation is held dear, Not with my praise direct, but praises due, And men shall credit it, because ’tis true. However, I’ll not cease the praise I vow To far-shot Phœbus with the silver bow, Whom lovely-hair’d Latona gave the light. O King! both Lycia is in rule thy right, Fair Mœony, and the maritimal Miletus, wish’d to be the seat of all. But chiefly Delos, girt with billows round, Thy most respected empire doth resound.
Where thou to Pythus went’st, to answer there, As soon as thou wert born, the burning ear Of many a far-come, to hear future deeds, Clad in divine and odoriferous weeds, And with thy golden fescue play’dst upon Thy hollow harp, that sounds to heaven set gone. Then to Olympus swift as thought he flew, To Jove’s high house, and had a retinue Of Gods t’ attend him; and then straight did fall To study of the harp, and harpsical, All th’ Immortals. To whom every Muse With ravishing voices did their answers use, Singing th’ eternal deeds of Deity, And from their hands what hells of misery Poor humans suffer, living desperate quite, And not an art they have, wit, or deceit, Can make them manage any act aright, Nor find, with all the soul they can engage, A salve for death, or remedy for age. But here the fair-hair’d Graces, the wise Hours, Harmonia, Hebe, and sweet Venus’ pow’rs, Danc’d, and each other’s palm to palm did cling. And with these danc’d not a deformed thing, No forespoke dwarf, nor downward witherling, But all with wond’rous goodly forms were deckt, And mov’d with beauties of unpriz’d aspect. Dart-dear Diana, even with Phœbus bred, Danc’d likewise there; and Mars a march did tread With that brave bevy.
In whose consort fell Argicides, th’ ingenious sentinel. Phœbus-Apollo touch’d his lute to them Sweetly and softly, a most glorious beam Casting about him, as he danc’d and play’d, And even his feet were all with rays array’d; His weed and all of a most curious trim With no less lustre grac’d and circled him. By these Latona, with a hair that shin’d Like burnish’d gold, and, with the mighty mind; Heaven’s counsellor, Jove, sat with delightsome eyes; To see their son new rank’d with Deities. How shall I praise thee, then, that art all praise? Amongst the brides shall I thy Deity raise? Or being in love, when sad thou went’st to woo The virgin Aza, and didst overthrow The even-with-Gods, Elation’s mighty seed, That had of goodly horse so brave a breed, And Phorbas, son of sovereign Triopus, Valiant Leucippus, and Ereutheus, And Triopus himself with equal fall, Thou but on foot, and they on horseback all? Or shall I sing thee, as thou first didst grace Earth with thy foot, to find thee forth a place Fit to pronounce thy oracles to men?
First from Olympus thou alightedst then Into Pieria, passing all the land Of fruitless Lesbos, chok’d with drifts of sand, The Magnets likewise, and the Perrhæbes; And to Iolcus variedst thy access, Cenæus’ tops ascending, that their base Make bright Eubœa, being of ships the grace, And fix’d thy fair stand in Lelantus’ field, That did not yet thy mind’s contentment yield To raise a fane on, and a sacred grove. Passing Euripus then, thou mad’st remove Up to earth’s ever-green and holiest hill. Yet swiftly thence, too, thou transcendedst still To Mycalessus, and didst touch upon Teumessus, apt to make green couches on, And flowery field-beds. Then thy progress found Thebes out, whose soil with only woods was crown’d, For yet was sacred Thebes no human seat, And therefore were no paths nor highways beat On her free bosom, that flows now with wheat, But then she only wore on it a wood.
From hence (even loth to part, because it stood Fit for thy service) thou putt’st on remove To green Onchestus, Neptune’s glorious grove, Where new-tam’d horse, bred, nourish nerves so rare That still they frolic, though they travell’d are Never so sore, and hurry after them Most heavy coaches, but are so extreme (In usual travel) fiery and free, That though their coachman ne’er so masterly Governs their courages, he sometimes must Forsake his seat, and give their spirits their lust, When after them their empty coach they draw, Foaming, and neighing, quite exempt from awe. And if their coachman guide through any grove Unshorn, and vow’d to any Deity’s love, The lords encoach’d leap out, and all their care Use to allay their fires, with speaking fair Stroking and trimming them, and in some queach, Or strength of shade, within their nearest reach, Reining them up, invoke the deified King Of that unshorn and everlasting spring, And leave them then to her preserving hands, Who is the Fate that there the God commands. And this was first the sacred fashion there. From hence thou went’st, O thou in shafts past peer, And found’st Cephissus with thy all-seeing beams, Whose flood affects so many silver streams, And from Lilæus pours so bright a wave.
Yet forth thy foot flew, and thy fair eyes gave The view of Ocale the rich in tow’rs; Then to Amartus that abounds in flow’rs, Then to Delphusa putt’st thy progress on, Whose blessed soil nought harmful breeds upon; And there thy pleasure would a fane adorn, And nourish woods whose shades should ne’er be shorn. Where this thou told’st her, standing to her close: “Delphusa, here I entertain suppose To build a far-fam’d temple, and ordain An oracle t’ inform the minds of men, Who shall for ever offer to my love Whole hecatombs; even all the men that move In rich Peloponnesus, and all those Of Europe, and the isles the seas enclose, Whom future search of acts and beings brings. To whom I’ll prophesy the truths of things In that rich temple where my oracle sings.” This said, the All-bounds-reacher, with his bow, The fane’s divine foundations did foreshow; Ample they were, and did huge length impart, With a continuate tenour, full of art. But when Delphusa look’d into his end, Her heart grew angry, and did thus extend Itself to Phœbus: “Phœbus, since thy mind A far-fam’d fane hath in itself design’d To bear an oracle to men in me, That hecatombs may put in fire to thee, This let me tell thee, and impose for stay Upon thy purpose: Th’ inarticulate neigh Of fire-hov’d horse will ever disobey Thy numerous ear, and mules will for their drink Trouble my sacred springs, and I should think That any of the human race had rather See here the hurries of rich coaches gather, And hear the haughty neighs of swift-hov’d horse, Than in his pleasure’s place convert recourse T’a mighty temple; and his wealth bestow On pieties, where his sports may freely flow, Or see huge wealth that he shall never owe.
And, therefore, wouldst thou hear my free advice,— Though mightier far thou art, and much more wise, O king, than I, thy pow’r being great’st of all In Crissa, underneath the bosom’s fall Of steep Parnassus,—let thy mind be given To set thee up a fane, where never driven Shall glorious coaches be, nor horses’ neighs Storm near thy well-built altars, but thy praise Let the fair race of pious humans bring Into thy fane, that Io-pæans sing. And those gifts only let thy deified mind Be circularly pleas’d with, being the kind And fair burnt-offerings that true Deities bind.” With this his mind she altered, though she spake Not for his good, but her own glory’s sake. From hence, O Phœbus, first thou mad’st retreat, And of the Phlegians reached the walled seat, Inhabited with contumelious men, Who, slighting Jove, took up their dwellings then Within a large cave, near Cephissus’ lake.
Hence, swiftly moving, thou all speed didst make Up to the tops intended, and the ground Of Crissa, under the-with-snow-still-crown’d Parnassus, reach’d, whose face affects the West; Above which hangs a rock, that still seems prest To fall upon it, through whose breast doth run A rocky cave, near which the King the Sun Cast to contrive a temple to his mind, And said, “Now here stands my conceit inclin’d To build a famous fane, where still shall be An oracle to men, that still to me Shall offer absolute hecatombs, as well Those that in rich Peloponnesus dwell As those of Europe, and the isles that lie Wall’d with the sea, that all their pains apply T’ employ my counsels. To all which will I True secrets tell, by way of prophecy, In my rich temple, that shall ever be An oracle to all posterity.” This said, the fane’s form he did straight present, Ample, and of a length of great extent; In which Trophonius and Agamede, Who of Erginus were the famous seed, Impos’d the stony entry, and the heart Of every God had for their excellent art. About the temple dwelt of human name Unnumber’d nations, it acquired such fame, Being all of stone, built for eternal date.
And near it did a fountain propagate A fair stream far away; when Jove’s bright seed, The King Apollo, with an arrow, freed From his strong string, destroy’d the Dragoness That wonder nourish’d, being of such excess In size, and horridness of monstrous shape, That on the forc’d earth she wrought many a rape, Many a spoil made on it, many an ill On crook-haunch’d herds brought, being impurpled still With blood of all sorts; having undergone The charge of Juno, with the golden throne, To nourish Typhon, the abhorr’d affright And bane of mortals, whom into the light Saturnia brought forth, being incensed with Jove, Because the most renown’d fruit of his love (Pallas) he got, and shook out of his brain.
For which majestic Juno did complain In this kind to the Bless’d Court of the skies: “Know all ye sex-distinguish’d Deities, That Jove, assembler of the cloudy throng, Begins with me first, and affects with wrong My right in him, made by himself his wife, That knows and does the honour’d marriage life All honest offices; and yet hath he Unduly got, without my company, Blue-eyed Minerva, who of all the sky Of blest Immortals is the absolute grace; Where I have brought into the Heavenly Race A son, both taken in his feet and head, So ugly, and so far from worth my bed, That, ravish’d into hand, I took and threw Down to the vast sea his detested view; Where Nereus’ daughter, Thetis, who her way With silver feet makes, and the fair array Of her bright sisters, saved, and took to guard. But, would to heaven, another yet were spared The like grace of his godhead! Crafty mate, What other scape canst thou excogitate? How could thy heart sustain to get alone The grey-eyed Goddess? Her conception Nor bringing forth had any hand of mine, And yet, know all the Gods, I go for thine To such kind uses.
But I’ll now employ My brain to procreate a masculine joy, That ’mongst th’ Immortals may as eminent shine, With shame affecting nor my bed nor thine. Nor will I ever touch at thine again, But far fly it and thee; and yet will reign Amongst th’ Immortals ever.” This spleen spent (Still yet left angry) far away she went From all the Deathless, and yet pray’d to all, Advanced her hand, and, ere she let it fall, Used these excitements: “Hear me now, O Earth! Broad Heaven above it, and beneath, your birth, The deified Titanois, that dwell about Vast Tartarus, from whence sprung all the rout Of Men and Deities! Hear me all, I say, With all your forces, and give instant way T’ a son of mine without Jove, who yet may Nothing inferior prove in force to him, But past him spring as far in able limb As he past Saturn.” This pronounced, she strook Life-bearing Earth so strongly, that she shook Beneath her numb’d hand. Which when she beheld, Her bosom with abundant comforts swell’d, In hope all should to her desire extend.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.