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King Apollo, Io, Io! Io Carnee! For thine altars do the seasons Paint the tributary flowers, Spring thy hyacinth restores, Summer greets thee with the rose, Autumn the blue Cyane mingles With the coronals of corn, And in every wreath thy laurel Weaves its everlasting green. Io Carnee! Io Carnee! For the brows Apollo favours Spring and winter does the laurel Weave its everlasting green.
Io, Io Paean! slowly. Song and oar must chime together: Io, Io Paean! by what title call Apollo! Clarian? Xanthian? Boedromian? Countless are thy names, Apollo, Io Carnee! Io Carnee! By the margent of Eurotas, 'Neath the shadows of Taeygetus, Thee the sons of Lacedaemon Name Carneus. Io, Io! Io Carnee! Io Carnee! Io, Io Paean! quicker. Song and voice must chime together: Io Paean! Io Paean!
Io, Io Paean! louder. Voice and oar must chime together: For the brows Apollo favours Even Ocean bears the laurel. Io Carnee! Io Carnee! Io, Io Paean! stronger. Strong are those who win the laurel.
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