Sivut kuvina


With revengeful fury Aung,
Strait his bow he bent, he strung,
Snatch'd an arrow wing'd for flight,
And provok'd me to the fight:
I, disdaining base retreat,
Clad in radiant arms complete,
Like Achilles, boldly wield
Glittering spear, and ample shield;
Thus equipt, resolve to prove
The terrific power of love.

From his bow the arrows sped;

I, alas! inglorious fled

When the quiver at his side

Feather'd shafts no more fupply'd,

Love, transformed into a dart,

tiere'd, like light'ning, through my heart,

Of my vitals made his prey,

And diffolv'd my foul away.

Now, alas! in vain I wield

Glittering spear, and ample shield,

Victory in vain dispute,

Love, 1 find is absolute;

All defence to folly turns

When within the battle burn-.

ODE XV. By Dr. Brootr.e. HAPrv Lire. Tr.t wealth of Gyges 1 despise, Gems have no charms to tempt the wise; Riches I leave, and such vain things, To the low aim and pride of kings.

Let my bright hair with unguents flow,
With rosy garlands crown my brow:
This fun shall roll in joy away;
To-morrow is a distant day.

Then while the hour serenely shines,
Toss the gay die, and quaff thy wines;
But ever in the genial hour.
To Bacchus the libation pour,
Lest death in wrath approach, and cry,
Man—taste no more the cup of joy.


By Dr. Brocme*

Some sing of Thebes, and some employ
Their numbers on the siege of Troy.
1 mourn, ajas: in plaintive strains,
My own captivity and chains.
0 No navy, rang d in proud array,
No foot, no horseman arm'd to slay.
My peace alarm: far other foes,
Far other hosts create my woes;
Strange dangerous hosts, that ambufh'd lie
In every bright, love-darting eye!
Such as destroy, when beauty arms,
To conquer, dreadful in its charms!



Mulciber, this silver take,
And a curious goblet make ,



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Let thy utmost skill appear
Not in radiant armour there;
Let me there no battles see;
What are arms or wars to me?
Form it with a noble sweep,
Very wide, and very deep.
Carve not there the Northern Team,
Nor Orion's dreadful beam;
Pleiads, Hyads, Bears displease;
What have I to do with these?
Why should flow Bootes roll,
Why should horrid monsters prowl,
On the margin of my bowl?
Draw me, what I value more,
Vines with purple clusters store,
Bacchus, ever young and fair,
Cupid with the golden hair,
Gay Bathyllus too be there.
See that, beautiful and bold,
All these figures rise in gold:
In the wine-press let them join
Hand in hand to tread the wine.



Contrive me, artisan, a bowl

Of silver ample as my foul;

And in the bright compartments bring

The sweet profusion of the spring;

Let that fair season, rich in flowers,

Shed roses in ambrosial showers;

Yet simply plain be thy design,

A festive banqueting of wine;

No hieroglyphics let it have,

No foreign mysteries engrave: I

Let no blood-thirsty heroes wield

Rough armour in the silver field;

But draw me Jove's delightful boyr

Bacchus the god of wine aud joy:

Let Venus with light step advance,

And with gay Hymen lead the dance.

Beneath the leaf-embelifh'd vine,

Full of young grapes that promise wine,

Let love, without his armour meet

The meek-ey'd graces laughing sweet.

And on the polish\i plain display

A group of beauteous boys at play i

But no Apollo, god of day.


WE Ought To Drink.

The thirsty earth fucks up the shower* Which from his urn Aquarius pours; The trees, which wave their bough* profuse, Imbibe the earth's prolific juice; The sea, in his prodigious cup, — Drinks all the rain and rivers up; The fun too thirsts, and strives to drain The sea, the rivers, and the rain, And nightly, when his course is run, I The merry moon drinks up the fun*

Then give me wine, and tell me why, Us friend*, fhunld all things drink but 11


£y Dr Broomt.

Tat jods o'er mortals prove their swap,
And ftcal them from themselves away.

Transfonn'd by their almighty hands,

Sad Ninfce an image stands;

And Philomel up-borne on wings,

Through air her mournful story sings.
Would heaven indulgent to my vow,

The happy change 1 wish allow;

Thy envy'd mirror 1 would be,

That thou might'st always gaze on me;

Arid, could my naked heart appear,

Thotid'stsee thyself—for thou art there!

Or were 1 made thy folding vest,

That 'hou might'st clasp me to thy breast!
Or, tern'd into a fount, to lave
Thy naked beauties in my wave!
Thy bosom cincture I would grow,
To warm those lirtle hilis of snow:
Thy oirjtrcent, in such fragrant streams
To wander o'er thy beauteous limbs';
Thy chain of shining pearl, to deck

A=d close embrace thy graceful neck:

A very sandal I would he,

Te tread on—if trod on by thee.



Till, fill, sweet girls, the foaming bowl,
Arid let me gratify my foul:
! taint with thirst—the beat of day
Has drank my very life away.

O! lead me to yon cooling bowers.
And give me fresher wreaths of flowers;
far those that now my temples (hade,
Scorch'd by my burning forehead, fade:
But O! my heart, what can remove,
Wur winds, what shades, thU heat of loves
These are al! vain, alas! I find;
JLove is the fever of the mind.

By E. C. B. Esq.


Hut my CIoe>, charming maid,
Here, beneath the genial shade,
Shielded from each ruder wiud,
J-ovely Chloe, lie reclin'd!
Lo: for thee the balmy breeze
Gently fan» the waving trees:
Streams that whisper through the grove
Whisper low the voice of luve,
Sweetly bubbling wanton sport,
Where peisuaiiuu holds her court.

Ye who pass th' enamell'd grove Through the rustling shade who rove, Sure my bliss your breast must fire! Can you fee, and not admire i

ODE xxrn.


Ir the treasur'd gold could give
Man a longer term to live,
I'd employ my utmost care
Still to keep, and still to spare;
And when death approarh'd, would say,
"Take thy fee, and walk away."
But since riches cannot save
Mortals from the gloomy grave,
Why should I myself deceive,
lo Vainly si^h, and vainly grieve?
Death will surely be my lot,
Whether 1 am rich or not.

Give me freely while 1 live
Generous wines, in plenty give
Soothing joys my life to chear,
Beauty kind, and friends sincere;
Happy ! could I ever find
Friends sincere, and beauty kind.



Since I'm born a mortal man,
And my being's but a span r
Ti« a march that I must make;
'1 is a journey I must take:
What is past I know too well;
What is future who can teil?
Teazing care, then let me free,
What have I to do with thee?
Lre I die, for die I must,
Ere this boJy turns to dust,
Lvery moment I'll employ
In sweet revelry and joy,
Laugh and ling, and dance and play,
With Lyccus young and gay.




When pay Bacchus cheers my breast,
All my cares are lull'd to rest:
Griefs that weep, and toils that teaze,
What have I to do witL these .'
No solicitudes can lave
Mortals from the gloomy grave,
bhall I thus myself deceive?
Shall I languish .' mall I grieve?
Let us quafs the generous juice;'
Bacchus gave it for our use.

For when wine transports the breast,
All our cares arc lull'd to rest.



When gay Bacehus sills my breast,
All my cures are lul.'J to relt,

R ich I seem as Lydia's king,
Merry catch or ballad sing;
Ivy-wreaths my temples shade,
Ivy that will never fade:
Thus I sit in mind elate,
Laughing at the farce of (late.

Some delight in fighting fields,
Nobler transports Bacchus yields:
Till the bowl—I ever said,
'Tis better to lie drunk than dead.



Bacchus, Jove's delightful boy,
Generous god of wine and joy,
Still exhilarates my foul
With the raptures of the bowl j
Then with feather'd feet I bound,
Dancing in a festive round;
Then I feel, in sparkling wine,
Transports delicate, divine;
Then the sprightly music warms,
Song delights and beauty charms:
Debonair, and light, and gay,
Thus I dance the hours away.


From the Guardian,

1113 Mistress's Picture.

Best and happiest artisan,
Best of painters, if you can,
'With your many-colour'd art
l?aint the mistress of my heart.

Describe the charms you hear from me ( Her charms you could not paint and fee) .And make the absent nymph appear ii.S if her lovely self were here.

First draw her easy-flowing hair,
A loft and black as she is fair;
And, if your art can rife so high,
JL#et breathing odours round her fly.

Beneath the shade of flowing jet,
TLe ivory forehead smoothly set,
Wi th care the sable brows extend.
Ait d in two arches nicely bend;
That fair Ipace which lies between
The meeting shade may scarce be seen.
The eye must be uncommon fire,
Spiirkle, languish, and desire;
Trie flames, unseen, must yet be felt,
Lfke Pallas kill, like Venus melt.
The rosy checks must seem to glow
Amidst the white of new-falPn snow.

Let her lips persuasion wear,
lo silence elegantly fair;
As is the blushing rivals strove,
Breathing and inviting love.

Below her chin be lure to deck
With every grace her polifh'd neck;
While all that's pretty, soft, and sweet,
In the swelling bosom meet.
The rest in purple garments veil,
Htt body, nor her (hapc conceal.

Enough! the lovely work is done,

The breathing paint will speak anon.



By another hand.
Best of painters, show thy art,
10 Di aw the charmer of my heart;
Draw her as flic shines away
At the rout, or at the play:
Carefully each mode express, ,
Woman's better part is dress.

Let her cap be mighty small,
Bigger just than none at all.
Pretty, like her sense, and little.
Like her beauty, frail and brittle.

Be her shining locks confin'd
In a threefold braid behind;
Let an artificial flower
Set the fissure off before;
Here and there weave ribbon pat in,
Ribbon of the finest satin.
.Circling round her ivory neck
10 Frizzle out the smart Vandyke;
Like the ruff that heretofore
Good Queen Bess's maidens wore;
Happy maidens, as we read,
Maids of honour, maids indeed.

Let her breast look rich and bold
With a stomacher of gold;
Let it keep her bosom warm.
Amply slrerch'd from arm to arm;
Whimsically travers'd o'er,
Here a knot, anri there a flower,
Like her little heart that dances,
Full of maggots, full of fancies.

Flowing loosely down her bock
Draw with art the graceful sack;
Ornament it well with jimping.
Flounces, furbelows and crimping;,
IO Let of ruffles many a row

Guard her elbows, white as snow;
Knots below, and knots above,
Emblems of the ties of love.

Let her hoop, ex'ended wide.
Show what petticoats should hide,
Gartersof the softest silk.
Stockings whiter than the milk;
Charming part of female drcl»,
Did it show us more or less.
10 Let a pair of velvet shoes
Gently press her pretty toes,
Gently press, and softly Iquecze,
Tottering like the fair Chinese,
Mounted high, and buckled low,
Tott'ring every step tney go.

Take these hints, and do thy duty,
Fastiions are the tests df beauty;
Features vary and perpsex,
Mode's the woman and the si x.

Now, illustrious artisan,
Paint the well proportions man;

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Your precepts to the schools confine,
For I'll be nobly mad with wine.

Alcmœou and Orestes grew
Quite mad when they their mother's flew:
But 1, us man, no m thrr kill'd,
No blood but that of Bacchus spill'J,
Will prove the virtues of the vine.
And be immensely mad with wine.

When Hercules was mad, we know
He grafp'd the Iphitean bow;
The rattlir g of hi» quiver spread
Astonishment around and d- cad.
Mad Ajax with his sevens 1 fluid,
Trcmenduous stalk'd along the field.
Great Hector's flaming sword he drew,
And hosts of Greeks in fancy flew.

But I with no such fury glow,
No sword I have, nor bend no bow:
My helmet is a flrwcry crown;
In this bright bowl my cares I'll drown,
And rant in ecstacies divine,
Heroically mad with wine.



When thou can'ft fairly number all
The leaves on trees that fade and fall.
Or count the foaming w?ves that roar,
Or tell the pebbles on the shore:
Then may'st thou reckon up the names
Of all my beauties, all my flames.

At Athens, flames tha. Oil. survive,
First count me only thirty-five.
At Coiinth next tell o'er the fair,
Tell me a whole battalion there.
In Greece the fairest nymphs abound,
And worse than banner'd armies wound.
Count all that make their sweet abodes
At Lesbos, or delightful Rhodes.
Then Carian and Ionian dames,
Write me at least two thousand flames.

What! think'll thou this too large a fun?
Egypt and Syria are to come.
And Crete where 1 ve hi svay maintains,
And o'er a hundred cities reigns.
Yet still unnun.ber'd, still remain
The nymphs of Persia and of Spain,
And Indians, scorch'd by Titan's ray,
Whose charms have burnt my heart away.



Lovelv swallow, once a year,
Pleas'd you pay your visit here;
When our clime the lun-beams gild,
Here your airy nest you build;
An , when bright days cease to smile,
Fly to Memphis or the Nile:
But, alas! within my breast
Love for ever makes his nest;
There the little Cupids lie,
Some prepare their wings to fly,

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Some unhatch'd, some form'd in part,
Lie close nestling ar my heart,
Chirping loud; their ceaseless noise .
All my golden peace destroys:
Some, quite fledg'd and fully grown,
Nurse the youngling' as their own;
These, when feather'd, others feed,
And thus propagate their breed.
Dreadful torment 1 sustain,
What, alas! can ease my pain:
The v»st flocks of loves that dwell
In my breast oo tongue can tell.



Though cold winter o'er my brow
Sheds a scatter'd shower of suow,
Waving locks of silver hair;
Fly me not, capricious fair.
Though the spring's enlivening power
Blossoms in your beauty's flower,
Fly me not, nor flight my love;
In this chaplet, lo! are wove
Lucid colours blending bright
Roses red, and lilies white:
We, methinks, resemble those;
1 the lily, you the rose.



This pictur'd bull is mighty Jove,
Who meditates some prank of love;
On his broad back, with pleasing care,
He safely bears the Tyrian fair:
Lo! buoyant on the foaming tide,
He throws the circling winds aside,
Securely steering through the sea.
No other daring bull hut he.
Would leave his heifers on the plain,
To tempt the danglrs of the main.

By Dr. Brooms.


Talk not to me of pedant rules,
1 leave debates to learned fools,
Who solemnly in form advise;
At best impertinently wise.

To me more pleasing precepts give,
Anc? teach the science how to live;
To bury in the friendly draught
Sorrows that spring from too much thought;
To learn soft lessons from the fair,
How life may glide exempt from care.

Alas! I'm old—I fee my head
With hoary locks by time o'erspread:
Then instant be the goblet brought,
To make me young—at least in thought.
Alas! incessant speeds the day,
When I must mix with common day;

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When ! must tread the dismal shore,
And dream of love and wine no more.

By Dr. Brooms.


See! winter's past; the season's bring
Soft breezes with returning spring;
At whose approach the graces wear.
Fresh honours in their flowing hair;
The raging seas forget to roar,
And smiling, gently kiss the shore;
The sportive duck, in wanton play,
Now.dives, now rises into day;
The cranes from freezing Ikies repair,
And sailing float to warmer air;
Th' enlivening funs in glory rile,
And gayly dance along the Ikies;
The clouds disperse, or, if in showers
They fall, it is to wake the flowers.
See: verdure clothes the teeming earth
The olive struggles into birth;
The swelling giapes adorn the vine,
And kindly promise futurt wine:
Blest juice! already 1 in thought
Quaff an imaginary draught.



Yes, I'm old, I'm old, 'tis true;
What have I with time to do?
With the young and with the gay,
1 can drink as much as they.
Let the jovial band advance,
Still I'm ready for the dance:
What's my lccptrc, if you ask,
Lo: I sway a mighty flask.

should some mettled blade delight
In the bloody scenes of fight,
Let him to this stage ascend,
Still I'm ready to contend—
Mix the grape's rich blood, my page,
We in drinking will engage.

Yes, I'm old; yet with the gay
I can be as brisk as they;
Like Silenus 'midst his train,
I can dance along the plain.



When I drain the rosy bowl,
Joy exhilarates my foul:
To the nine I raise my song,
Ever fair and ever young.

When full cups my cares expels
Sober counsels, then farewell:
Let the wind, that murmur, sweep
All my sorrows to the deep.

When I drink dull time away,
Jolly Bacchus, ever gay.
Leads me to delightful bowers,
Full of fragrance, full of flowers.

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