Hymn to Jupiter

Whilst we to Jove, immortal and divine,
Perform the rites, and pour the ruddy wine,
Whom shall the Muse with sacred rapture sing
But Jove th’ almighty and eternal king,
Who from high heaven with bursting thunder hurl’d
The sons of earth, and awes th’ ethereal world ?
But say, thou first and greatest power above !

Shall I Dictean or Lyczan Jove
Attempt to sing ?... Who knows thy mighty line ?
And who can tell, except by power divine,
If Ida’s hills thy sacred birth may claim,
Or far Arcadia boast an equal fame ?
The Cretans, prone to falsehood, vaunt in vain,
And impious built thy tomb on Dicté’s plain ;
For Jove, th’ immortal king, shall never die,
But reign o’er men and gods above the sky.

In high Parrhasia Rhea bore the god,
Where gloomy forests on the mountans nod ;
And hence such awful horror guards the grove,
Made holy by the glorious birth of Jove,
That now no teeming female dares presume
To bear her young amid the hallow’d gloom :
Nor beast nor insect shall approach the shade,
Nor matron chaste invoke Lucina’s aid
Within the dark recess, still known to fame,
And Rhea’s ancient bed th’ Arcadians name.

Soon as her womb discharg’d the mighty load,
She sought a spring to bathe the new-born god,
But in Parrhasia yet no stream appears,
Though fam’d for numerous rills in after-years;
And when the Power ungirt her spacious breast,
The dusty fields display’d a barren waste.
Nor yet broad Ladon flow’d, the plains to lave,
Nor Erymanthus pour’d his limpid wave ;
Wide-branching oaks Jasus’ channel shade,
And chariots roll on Mela’s sandy bed:
Unnumber’d savage beasts securely throng,
Where now deep Carion swiftly glides along ;
A thirsty swain amid the wilds might go,
Where crystal Cratis and Metopé flow,
Nor find a spring ; but still, with wonder, hear
Th’ imprison’d water murmuring on his ear.

The venerable goddess, thus distress’d, ;
With awful voice the pregnant earth address’d ;
Slight are thy pangs, O friendly Power, she said,
Bring forth like me to give thy suppliant aid.
She rais’d her mighty arm as thus she spoke,
And with her sceptre struck the solid rock ;
Wide at the blow the yawning mountain rent,
The floods impetuous issued from the vent,
And pour’d along the ground in swelling streams,
Where soon she bath’d Jove’s beauteous infant-limbs.
Thy body cleans’d, and wrapt in purple bands,
She gave the precious pledge to Neda’s hands,
And much enjoin’d her, with a mother’s care,
To seek the Cretan cave and hide thee there.
For she was first-born of the beauteous maids
That nurs’d the Thunderer in the gloomy shades,
Save Styx and Philyré; from whence she gain’d
More high rewards than virgin e’er obtain’d:
For Neda’s name the grateful goddess gave
To this most ancient stream, whose rolling wave
With force impetuous pours along the plain,
And near the walls of Leprium meets the main ;
The sons of Arcas hear the waters roar,
And drink the sacred flood, and crowd the shore.

Thee, mighty Jove, the nymph to Thenz bore,
And thence to Gnossus on the Cretan shore,
But first at Thenz cur’d thy recent wound ;
Cydonians hence Omphalé nam’d the ground.
The nymphs of Dicté with encircling arms
Embrac’d thee blooming in immortal charms ;
The fair Adraste next thy care began,
And laid thy godhead in a golden van.
On Ida’s hills the goat Amalthea bred,
There gave thee suck ; and mountain-honey fed,
From bees that o’er the cliffs appear in swarms,
Prepare their waxen domes with hoarse alarms,
Collect the sweets of every fragrant flower,
And on thy lips distil th’ ambrosial shower.
The fierce Curetes circle o’er the ground
In warlike dance, and beat their shields around,
That Saturn, for thy cries, might hear alone
The clang of armour on his distant throne.
Away thy infant years thus quickly flew,
Thy power appearing as thy stature grew.
And soon thou glow’st with every youthful grace,
And soon soft down o’erspreads thy beauteous face ;
Jove, yet a child, the prize of wisdom bears
From both his brothers in maturer years:
And both agreed that th’ empire of high heaven,
Though theirs by birthright, should to Jove be given.
Yet ancient poets idle fictions tell
That lots were cast for heaven, for earth, and hell,
Our ears thus flattering with amusive tales ;
Wit pleases oftener than fair truth prevails.
None trust blind chance their fortune to decide,
Unless for equal prizes lots are tried ;
And who prefers the dark infernal bowers
To heaven’s gay courts and bright ethereal towers?
Chance plac’d not Jove in these divine abodes ;
Thy power, thy wisdom, made thee king of gods!
Then first thy bird excell’d th’ aérial kind,
Thy mandates waited and reveal’d thy mind ;
Now through the skies, at thy command he springs,
And bears celestial augury on his wings.
All-gracious Power! protect the friends I love,
And send them favouring omens from, above.

Lo! rob’d in purple, yonder shining bands
Of chosen youths whom Jove himself commands ;
Not those who tempt the seas in search of gain,
Or join fierce combat on the dusty plain,
Invent the dance or raise the tuneful song ;
These meaner cares t’ inferior gods belong ;
But those to whom imperial power is given,
Jove’s favour’d sons, the delegates of heaven,
Whom seamen, soldiers, merchants, bards obey,
And wide-extended empires own their sway.
The rough artificer owns Vulcan’s power,
And hardy soldiers warlike Mars adore ;
The man who swift pursues the savage brood,
Invokes Diana, huntress of the wood ;
And he, who strikes the lyre’s resounding strings
With skilful hand, from bright Apollo springs,
But kings from Jove; except the royal line
No rank on earth approaches to divine:
Their sacred power descends from mighty Jove,
And he protects them from high heaven above.
Besides from him the power of judges springs,
And governors, the substitutes of kings ;
He guards the city, o’er the state presides,
Rewards the governor whom virtue guides;
But dire disgrace and ruin keeps in store
For partial judges that abuse their power.
Though, mighty Jove! thy scepter’d sons obtain
Abundant wealth, and means of glory gain,
Yet all receive not, by thy great. decree,
An equal share of splendid pomp from thee;
For warlike Philadelphus reigns alone,
And power supreme supports his sacred throne;
Glad evening still beholds the vast designs
Complete, to which his morning thought inclines,
Beholds complete in one revolving sun,
What others, in long ages, but begun.
For Jove, in wrath, makes other kings to mourn
Their counsels blasted, and their hopes forlorn.
Hail! mighty king; hail! great Saturnian Jove,
Who sends life, health, and safety from above ;
Thy glorious acts transcending human tongue,
Nor were, nor shall by mortal bard be sung!
O, from thy bright abodes let blessings flow ;
Grant wealth, grant virtue to mankind below:
For we with wealth are not completely blest,
And virtue fails when wealth is unpossess’d ;
Then grant us both; for these united prove
The choicest blessing man receives from Jove.