To Apollon. Blest Paian, come, propitious to my prayer, illustrious power, whom Memphian tribes revere, Tityoktonos, and the god of Health, Lykoreus, Phoibos, fruitful source of wealth: Pytheion, golden-lyred, the field from thee receives its constant rich fertility. Titan, Gryneion, Smyntheus, thee I sing, Pythoktonos, hallowed, Delphion king: rural, light-bearing Daimon, and Mousagetos, noble and lovely, armed with arrows dread: far-darting, Bakkhion, twofold and divine, power far diffused, and course oblique is thine. O Delion king, whose light-producing eye views all within, and all beneath the sky; whose locks are gold, whose oracles are sure, who omens good revealest, and precepts pure; hear me entreating for he human kind, hear, and be present with benignant mind; for thou surveyest this boundless aither all, and every part of this terrestrial ball abundant, blessed; and thy piercing sight extends beneath the gloomy, silent night; Beyond the darkness, starry-eyed, profound, the table roots, deep-fixed by thee, are found. The world’s wide bounds, all-flourishing, are thine, thyself of all the source and end divine. ‘Tis thine all nature’s music to inspire with various-sounding, harmonious lyre: now the last string thou tunest to sweet accord, divinely warbling, now the highest chord; the immortal golden lyre, now touched by thee, responsive yields a Dorian melody. All nature’s tribes to thee their difference owe, and changing seasons from thy music flow: hence, mixed by thee in equal parts, advance summer and winter in alternate dance; this claims the highest, that the lowest string, the Dorian measure tunes the lovely spring: hence by mankind Pan royal, two-horned named, shrill winds emitting through the syrinx famed; since to thy care the figured seal’s consigned, which stamps the world with forms of every kind. Hear me, blest power, and in these rites rejoice, and save thy mystics with a suppliant voice.

Mother inexhaustible and incorruptible, creatures, born the first, engendered by thyself and by thyself conceived, issue of thyself alone and seeking joy within thyself, Astarte! Oh! Perpetually fertilized, virgin and nurse of all that is, chaste and lascivious, pure and revelling, ineffable, nocturnal, sweet, breather of fire, foam of the sea! Thou who accordest grace in secret, thou who unitest, thou who lovest, thou who seizest with furious desire the multiplied races of savage beasts and couplest the sexes in the wood. Oh, irresistible Astarte! hear me, take me, possess me, oh, Moon! and thirteen times each year draw from my womb the sweet libation of my blood!

Greetings, daughter of Zeus
Who holds the aegis,
Now, and in another song,
I will remember you.

Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,
          Thou from whose immortal bosom
Gods and men and beasts have birth,
          Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child, Proserpine.

If with mists of evening dew
          Thou dost nourish these young flowers
Till they grow in scent and hue
          Fairest children of the Hours,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child, Proserpine.

Adoration of Osiris, lord of eternity, Wen-nefer, and Harmachis numerous of forms and great of images, and Ptah-Seker-Atum in Heliopolis, lord of the coffin,

He reaches Memphis; they are the gods who lead the netherworld; they protect you when you set in Nut.

Isis embraces you in peace, and drives away foes from the entrance of your ways.

You turn your face to Amentet, and brighten the Two Lands with electrum.

Those who lie down stand up to see you, and they breathe air;

They see your face like the rising of the disk of the sun in its horizon, and their hearts are peaceful because of what you have done; you are lord of eternity and infinity.

I have created a monument more lasting than bronze,
And higher than the royal site of the pyramids,
Which neither harsh rains nor the wild North wind
Can erode, nor the countless succession of years
And the flight of the seasons.
I will not entirely die! and a large part of me will avoid the grave.
Constantly renewed, I will grow in the eyes of posterity,
So long as the Pontifex and the solemn Vestal visit the Capitoline.
Where the river Aufidus roars, and where Daunus in the dry summers, ruled his rural folk,
I, risen to greatness from humble beginnings, will be renowned
As the first to adapt the Aoelian verses to Italian meters.
Take the well-deserved pride, Melpomene,
And freely grant me the wreath of Apollo for my crown.