Classic Poem

Now let the Muse Diana's glory sing;
Diana! sister of the archer-king.
Skill'd, like her brother, from the sounding bow
The arrow with unerring aim to throw.
Whose coursers, from fair Meles' reedy shore,
O'er Smyrna's fields the golden chariot bore,
To Clarus' vine-clad hills; beneath whose shade
Apollo waits the arrow-loving maid.
Hail, goddess! hail! from thee among the train
Of female deities begins my strain.
From thee to other powers I'll tune my lyre,
And strike with votive hands the thrilling wire.