Chapter 107 APOLLO

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-silvered inlets

Send far their light voice

Up the still vale of Thisbe,

O speed, and