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A HYMNE TO APOLLO.
His gracious mother, glorying to beareSo great an Archer, and a sonne so cleare. All haile (O blest Latona!) to bring forthAn issue of such All-out-shining worth,Royall Apollo, and the Queene that louesThe hurles of darts. She in the Ortygian groues,And he, in cliffie Delos; leaning onThe loftie Oros; and being built vponBy Cynthus Prominent: that his head rearesClose to the Palme, that Inops fluent cheares. How shall I praise thee? farre being worthiest praise?(O Phœbus) to whose worth, the law of layesIn all kindes is ascrib'de? If feeding flocksBy Continent, or Ile; all eminen'st rocksDid sing for ioy: Hill-tops, and floods in songDid breake their billows, as they flow'd alongTo serue the sea. The shores, the seas, and allDid sing as soone, as from the lap did fallOf blest Latona, thee the ioy of Man.Her Child-bed made, the mountaine CynthianIn rockie Delos, the sea-circled Ile:On whose all sides, the black seas brake their Pile,And ouer-flowd for ioy, so franck a GaleThe singing winds did on their waues exhale. Here borne; all mortalls liue in thy commands.Who euer Crete holds; Athens; or the strandsOf th'Ile Ægina; or the famous landFor ships (Eubœa:) or Eresia;
Or
