Ivanhoe the Band - Apollo

Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts
Thick breaks the red flame
All Etna heaves fiercely
Her forest-cloth’d frame
Not here, O Apollo
Are haunts meet for thee
But, where Helicon breaks down
In cliff to the sea
Where the moon-silver’d inlets
Send far their light voice
Up the still vale of Thisbe
O speed, and rejoice
On the sward at the cliff-top
Lie strewn the white flocks
On the cliff-side the pigeons
Roost deep in the rocks
In the moonlight the shepherds
Soft lull’d by the rills
Lie wrapt in their blankets
Asleep on the hills
—What forms are these coming
So white through the gloom
What garments out-glistening
The gold-flower’d broom
What sweet-breathing presence
Out-perfumes the thyme
What voices enrapture
The night’s balmy prime
’Tis Apollo comes leading
His choir, the Nine
—The leader is fairest
But all are divine
They are lost in the hollows
They stream up again
What seeks on this mountain
The glorified train
They bathe on this mountain
In the spring by their road
Then on to Olympus
Their endless abode
—Whose praise do they mention
Of what is it told
What will be for ever
What was from of old
First hymn they the Father
Of all things; and then
The rest of immortals
The action of men
The day in his hotness
The strife with the palm
The night in her silence
The stars in their calm

Written by:
Matthew Arnold

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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