Apollo Musagetes

Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
     Thick breaks the red flame;
     All Etna heaves fiercely
     Her forest-clothed frame.

     Not here, O Apollo!
     Are haunts meet for thee.
     But, where Helicon breaks down
     In cliff to the sea,

     Where the moon-silver'd inlets
   Send far their light voice
   Up the still vale of Thisbe,
   O speed, and rejoice!

   On the sward at the cliff-top
   Lie strewn the white flocks,
   On the cliff-side the pigeons
   Roost deep in the rocks.

   In the moonlight the shepherds,
   Soft lull'd by the rills,
   Lie wrapped in their blankets
   Asleep on the hills.

   --What forms are these coming
   So white through the gloom?
   What garments out-glistening
   The gold-flower'd broom?

   What sweet-breathing presence
   Out-perfumes the thyme?
   What voices enrapture
   The night's balmy prime?

   'Tis Apollo comes leading
   His choir, the Nine.
   --The leader is fairest,
   But all are divine.

  They are lost in the hollows!
   They stream up again!
   What seeks on this mountain
   The glorified train?--

   They bathe on this mountain,
   In the spring by their road;
   Then on to Olympus,
   Their endless abode.

   --Whose proase do they mention?
   Of what is it told?--
   What will be for ever;
   What was from of old.

  First hymn they the Father
   Of all things; and then,
   The rest of immortals,
   The action of men.

   The day in his hotness,
   The strife with the palm;
   The night in her silence,
   The stars in their calm.