Classic Poem

Queen of the golden bow, Dian, I sing,
The much-lov'd sister of the Archer-king,
Loosing the arrow from the twanging string;
The steepy rocks and woodland walks among,
Dealing destruction mid the sylvan throng:
And while the fatal arrows fly around,
The echoing shades with bestial cries resound.
The trembling earth and seas their fear avow,
Firm treads the goddess of the golden bow;
On every side a deadly shaft she speeds,
By every shaft a destin'd victim bleeds;
Till, sated with the sport, the Archer-maid,
Her bow unbent, seeks Delphi's sacred shade,
There in her brother, great Apollo's fane,
The Muses and the Graces in her train,
She leads the dance, and swells the choral strain.
With voice divine the votive hymn they raise
To fair Latona's and her offspring's praise.
Above, amid the heavenly synod plac'd,
With counsels sage and glorious actions grac'd.
Favouring, receive the humble verse I pay,
Soon will I hail ye in a newer lay.