Her twining arms fhe threw the palm around, 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, His facred haunt, his best-belov'd retreat. 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; And with the Cæftus urge the manly war. View the strong nerves the brawny chiefs that brace, eye Then Then mark their riches of a thousand kinds, Their tongues so justly tune with accents new, Latona! Phœbus! Dian, lovely fair! If haply fome poor pilgrim fhall enquire, "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, But Phoebus never will I cease to fing, 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 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 Woe, by the Gods on wretched mortals cast, 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, To fprightliest measures dancing hand in hand. Tunes her glad notes, and joins the virgin choir. There |