The poem
Through 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.