THE SONG OF CALLICLES

by: Matthew Arnold (1822-1888)

HROUGH 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,

Alseep 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.

• Matthew Arnold: Bibliography - A bibliography of Arnold's poetic, prose and dramatic works; includes a list of critical resources.
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