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And mitigates her woes, in golden clouds
High on Olympus' top the Goddess shrouds.
Her large full eyes with indignation roll,
And livid envy feiz'd her haughty soul,
That from Latona's loins was doom'd to spring
So great a son, the mighty Bowyer-king.

The milder pow'rs, that near the lab'ring fair
View'd all her pangs with unavailing care,
Fair Iris fent, the many colour'd maid,
To gain with goodly gifts Lucina's aid.
But charg'd her heed, left Juno fhou'd prevent
With prohibition dire their kind intent.
Fleet as the winged winds, the flying fair
With nimble pinion cut the liquid air.
Olympus gain'd, apart fhe call'd the maid,

Then fought with many a pray'r her needful aid,
And mov'd her foul: when foon with dove-like pace

Swiftly they measur'd back the viewless airy space.

Soon as to Delos' ifle Lucina came

The

pangs of travail feiz'd Latona's frame.

Her

Her twining arms fhe threw the palm around,
And preft with deep-indented knee the ground:
Then into day fprung forth the jolly boy,
Earth fmil'd beneath, and heaven rang with joy.

The Sifter Pow'rs that round Latona ftood With chafte ablutions cleans'd the infant-god. His lovely limbs in mantle white they bound, And gently drew a golden fwathe around. He hung not helpless at his mother's breast, But Themis fed him with an heavenly feaft. Pleas'd while Latona views the heavenly boy, And fondly glows with all a mother's joy, The lufty babe, strong with ambrofial food, In vain their bonds or golden fwathes withstood, Bonds, swathes, and ligaments with ease he broke, And thus the wondring Deities bespoke

"The lyre, and founding bow, and to declare "The Thund'rer's counfels, be Apollo's care!"

He spake; and onwards all majestic strode ; The Queens of Heaven awe-ftruck view'd the God.

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Delos beheld him with a tender fmile,

And hail'd, enrich'd with gold, her happy isle;

Her happy ifle, Apollo's native feat,

His facred haunt, his best-belov'd retreat.
Grac'd with Apollo, Delos glorious fhines,
As the tall mountain crown'd with stately pines.

Now ftony Cynthus wou'd the God ascend, And now his courfe to various iflands bend. Full many a fane, and rock, and fhady grove, River, and mountain, did Apollo love;

But chiefly Delos: The Ionians there,

With their chafte wives and prattling babes, repair.

There gladly celebrate Apollo's name

With many a folemn rite and facred game;
The jolly dance, and holy hymn prepare,

And with the Cæftus urge the manly war.
If, when their facred feast th' Ionians hold,

Their gallant sports a stranger shou'd behold,

View the strong nerves the brawny chiefs that brace, Or the fofter charms of female grace,

eye

Then

Then mark their riches of a thousand kinds,
And their tall fhips born swift before the winds,
So goodly to the fight wou'd all appear,
The fair affembly Gods he wou'd declare.
There too the Delian Virgins, beauteous choir,
Apollo's handmaids, wake the living lyre;
To Phœbus first they confecrate the lays,
Latona then and chafte Diana praise,
Then heroes old, and matrons chafte rehearse,
And footh the raptur'd heart with sacred verse.
Each voice, the Delian maids, each human found
With aptest imitation fweet refound::

Their tongues so justly tune with accents new,
That none the false distinguish from the true..

Latona! Phoebus! Dian, lovely fair!
Bleft Delian nymphs, Apollo's chiefest care,
All hail! and O with praise your poet crown,
Nor all his labours in oblivion drown!:

If haply fome poor pilgrim fhall enquire,

"O, virgins, who most skilful smites the lyre?

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"Whose lofty verse in sweetest descant rolls, "And charms to extafy the hearers fouls ?" O anfwer, a blind bard in Chios dwells,

In all the arts of verfe who far excells.

Then o'er the earth shall spread my glorious fame,
And distant Nations fhall record my name.

But Phœbus never will I cease to fing,
Latona's noble fon, the mighty Bowyer-king.

Thee Lycia and Mæonia, thee, great Pow'r,
The bleft Miletus' habitants adore;
But thy lov'd haunt is fea-girt Delos' fhore.

Now Pytho's ftony foil Apollo treads,
And all around ambrofial fragrance sheds,
Then strikes with matchless art the golden ftrings,
And ev'ry hill with heavenly mufick rings.

Olympus now and the divine abodes Glorious he feeks, and mixes with the Gods. Each heavenly bofom pants with fond defire To hear the lofty verfe and golden lyre.

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