For not estranged from your benignant arts Is he, the god, to whose mysterious shrine My youth was sacred, and my votive cares Belong, the learned Paeon. Oft when all His cordial treasures he hath search'd in vain; When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm 210 Rich with the genial influence of the sun (To rouse dark fancy from her plaintive dreams, To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast Which pines with silent passion), he in vain Hath proved; to your deep mansions he descends. Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades, He entereth; where empurpled veins of ore Gleam on the roof; where through the rigid mine Your trickling rills insinuate. There the god 220 From your indulgent hands the streaming bowl Wafts to his pale-eyed suppliants; wafts the seeds Metallic and the elemental salts Wash'd from the pregnant glebe. They drink, and soon Flies pain; flies inauspicious care; and soon The social haunt or unfrequented shade Hears Io, Io Paean, [AA] as of old, When Python fell. And, O propitious Nymphs, Oft as for hapless mortals I implore Your sultry springs, through every urn, 230 Oh, shed your healing treasures! With the first And finest breath, which from the genial strife Of mineral fermentation springs, like light O'er the fresh morning's vapours, lustrate then The fountain, and inform the rising wave. My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes Not unregarded of celestial powers, I frame their language; and the Muses deign 240 To guide the pious tenor of my lay. The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine) In early days did to my wondering sense Their secrets oft reveal; oft my raised ear In slumber felt their music; oft at noon, Or hour of sunset, by some lonely stream, In field or shady grove, they taught me words Of power from death and envy to preserve The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful mind, And offerings unprofaned by ruder eye, 250 My vows I send, my homage, to the seats Of rocky Cirrha, [BB] where with you they dwell, Where you their chaste companions they admit, Through all the hallow'd scene; where oft intent, And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge, They mark the cadence of your confluent urns, How tuneful, yielding gratefullest repose To their consorted measure, till again, With emulation all the sounding choir, And bright Apollo, leader of the song, 260 Their voices through the liquid air exalt, And sweep their lofty strings; those powerful strings That charm the mind of gods, [CC] that fill the courts Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet Of evils, with immortal rest from cares, Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove,