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The Song of Callicles
By Matthew Arnold
1822-1888THROUGH the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
Thick breaks the red flame.
All Etna heaves fiercely
Her forest-clothed 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.
DayPoems Poem No. 697
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