Classic Poem

H ERMES ! who wakeful Argus slew, I sing;
Of fair Arcadia and Cyllene king.
The' etherial herald of the realms above,
The son of Maia and of thundering Jove.
Far from the powers divine, in midnight's hour,
Saturnius met her in the secret bower:
From gods and men the amorous theft conceal'd,
And Juno's eyes in heavy slumber seal'd.
O son of Jove and Maia! fond to grace
With kind benevolence the human race,
Farewell awhile; for the melodious Muse
The glories of thy sylvan son pursues,
With cloven feet and horned front who roves
With choirs of nymphs, amid the echoing groves;
And, while the mountains craggy heights among,
He joins in active dance the virgin throng,
To Pan, the pastoral god, they raise the choral song:
To Pan, with tangled locks, whose footsteps tread
Each snow-crown'd hill and mountain's lofty head;
Or wander careless through the lowly brake,
Or by the borders of the lucid lake;
Till climbing thence again the upland brow,
He views the fleecy myriads spread below.
Oft the goat-haunted cliffs he loves to trace;
Oft with keen eye pursues the sylvan chase
Amid the vales; or to mild Hesper's ray
Breathes from the warbling reed the pastoral lay.
Not sweeter flows sad Philomela's song,
Plaining the woods and leafy wilds among,
While beating with their bounding feet the plain,
And joining with their voice the dulcet strain,
The Oreads crowd around, whose heavenly song
The sounds of echo from the hills prolong.
The god, whose back a lynx's spoil o'erspreads,
With active step the frolic measure treads;
And as the dance they weave, sweet flowers beneath,
Of varied hue, their mingled odours breathe.
The festive strains to high Olympus rise,
Soothing the mighty synod of the skies:
But far above the rest, the votive lays
To Hermes, herald of the gods, they raise;
Who haunts Arcadia's green irriguous glades,
Crowded with flocks—and fair Cyllene's shades;
Where, though a god, to love's soft sway he bends,
And a weak mortal's fleecy charge attends;
Won by fair Dryope's victorious charms,
He clasp'd the blooming virgin in his arms.
From her embrace sprung the rude god to light;
Of dreadful form and horrible to sight;
Goat-footed—horn'd, yet full of sport and joy,
The nurse astonish'd, fled the wond'rous boy:
His shaggy limbs the trembling matron fear'd,
His face distorted and his rugged beard.
But Hermes, from her hands, receiv'd the child,
And on the infant-god auspicious smil'd;
In the thick fur wrapp'd of a mountain-hare,
His arms the boy to steep Olympus' bear.
Proudly he shows him to imperial Jove,
High seated mid the' immortal powers above.
With friendly joy and love, the race divine,
But chiefly Bacehus, god of mirth and wine,
Receive the dauntless god, whom Pan they call—
Pan—for his song delights the breasts of all .
Farewell!—propitious hear my suppliant strain,
Soon shall I wake the votive wire again.