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(From Hymn to Delos)
Translated by H. W. Tytler
O WHEN, my soul, wilt thou resound the praise | |
| Of Delos, nurse to Phœbus’ infant days, | |
| Or of the Cyclades? Most sacred these | |
| Of isles, that rise amid surrounding seas; | |
| And fame and hymns divine to them belong: | 5 |
| But Delos chief demands the Muse’s song; | |
| For there the god who leads the vocal train | |
| Was swathed around; and on the Delian plain | |
| His infant limbs were washed: the sacred lay | |
| Triumphant rose to hail the God of day. | 10 |
| As who forgets Pimplea, the divine, | |
| Is soon forsaken by the tuneful Nine; | |
| Thus on the bard, neglecting Cynthus’ shores, | |
| Avenging Phœbus all his fury pours: | |
| To Delos then let votive lays belong, | 15 |
| And Cynthian Phœbus will approve my song. | |
| Though beat by billows, and though vexed with storms, | |
| The sacred isle its deep foundations forms | |
| Unshook by winds, uninjured by the deep. | |
| High o’er the waves appears the Cynthian steep; | 20 |
| And from the flood the sea-mew bends his course | |
| O’er cliffs impervious to the swiftest horse: | |
| Around the rocks the Icarian surges roar, | |
| Collect new foam, and whiten all the shore | |
| Beneath the lonely caves, and breezy plain | 25 |
| Where fishers dwelt of old above the main. | |
| No wonder Delos, first in rank, is placed | |
| Amid the sister isles on ocean’s breast. | |
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