Her twining arms fhe threw the palm around,
And preft with deep-indented knee the ground:
Then into day sprung forth the jolly boy,

Earth fmil'd beneath, and heaven rang with joy.

The Sifter Pow'rs that round Latona ftood With chaste 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 feast. Pleas'd while Latona views the heavenly boy, And fondly glows with all a mother's joy, The lufty babe, ftrong with ambrofial food, In vain their bonds or golden swathes 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.

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 course to various islands bend. Full many a fane, and rock, and shady 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 sacred game;
The jolly dance, and holy hymn prepare,

And with the Cæftus urge the manly war.
If, when their facred feaft th' Ionians hold,
Their gallant fports a stranger fhou'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 ships 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 firft they confecrate the lays,
Latona then and chafte Diana praise,
Then heroes old, and matrons chafte rehearse,
And footh the raptur'd heart with facred verse.
Each voice, the Delian maids, each human found
With apteft imitation sweet refound:

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

Latona! Phœbus! 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 ?`

"Whose lofty verse in sweetest descant rolls, "And charms to extafy the hearers fouls?”

O answer, 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 diftant Nations fhall record my name.

But Phoebus never will I cease to fing,
Latona's noble son, 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 ambrosial 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.

Drawn

Drawn by the magic found, the Virgin-Nine
With warblings sweet the facred minstrel join :
Now with glad heart, loud voice, and jocund lays
Full sweetly carol bounteous heaven's praise ;
And now in dirges fad, and numbers flow
Relate the piteous tale of human woe;

Woe, by the Gods on wretched mortals cast,
Who vainly fhun affliction's wintry blast,

And all in vain attempt with fond delay

Death's certain shaft to ward, or chase old age away.

The Graces there, and fmiling Hours are seen,
And Cytherea, laughter-loving queen,
And Harmony, and Hebe, lovely band,

To fprightliest measures dancing hand in hand.
There, of no common port or vulgar mien,
With heavenly radiance, shines the Huntress-Queen,
Warbles responsive to the golden lyre,

Tunes her glad notes, and joins the virgin choir.
There Mars and Mercury with awkward play,
And uncouth gambols, wafte the live-long day.

There