Odes of Anacreon, Volume 1

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J. Carpenter, 1804 - Greek poetry

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Page 156 - Whatever decks the velvet field, Whate'er the circling seasons yield, Whatever buds, whatever blows, For thee it buds, for thee it grows. Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear, To him thy friendly notes are dear; For thou art mild as matin dew, And still, when summer's flowery hue Begins to paint the bloomy plain, We hear thy sweet prophetic strain; Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, And bless the notes and thee revere! The Muses love thy shrilly tone ; Apollo calls thee all his own; 'Twas he who...
Page 161 - O mother ! — I am wounded through I die with pain— in sooth I do ! Stung by some little angry thing, Some serpent on a tiny wing — A bee it was — for once, I know, I heard a rustic call it so.
Page 112 - The vapours, which at evening weep, Are beverage to the swelling deep ; And when the rosy sun appears, He drinks the ocean's misty tears. The moon too quaffs her paly stream Of lustre from the solar beam. Then, hence with all your sober thinking ! Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; I'll make the laws of nature mine, And pledge the universe in wine ! ODE XXII.
Page 38 - I hung it o'er my thoughtless brow , And ah ! I feel its magic now ! I feel that even his garland's touch Can make the bosom love too much ! ODE II.
Page 111 - The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief; The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft.
Page 90 - Sport and flutter on its snow. Now let a floating lucid veil Shadow her limbs, but not conceal ; A charm may peep, a hue may beam, And leave the rest to Fancy's dream.
Page 86 - Where her tresses' curly flow Darkles o'er the brow of snow, Let her forehead beam to light, Burnish'd as the ivory bright. Let her eyebrows sweetly rise In jetty arches o'er her eyes, Gently in a crescent gliding, Just commingling, just dividing. But hast thou any sparkles warm The lightning of her eyes to form t Let them effuse the azure ray With which Minerva's glances play, And give them all that liquid fire That Venus
Page 115 - And take me panting to thy breast ! I wish I might a rose-bud grow, And thou wouldst cull me from the bower, And place me on that breast of snow...
Page 20 - He steals us so insensibly along with him, that we sympathize even in his excesses. In his amatory odes there is a delicacy of compliment not to be found in any other ancient poet. Love at that period was rather an unrefined emotion ; and the intercourse of the sexes was ani mated more by passion than sentiment.
Page 78 - Led by what chart, transports the timid dove The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love ? Say, thro' the clouds what compass points her flight ? Monarchs have gazed, and nations blessed the sight.

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