Odes of Anacreon, tr. into Engl. verse, with notes. By T. Moore, Volume 1

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Page 175 - 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 126 - 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 i Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; I'll make the laws of nature mine, And pledge the universe in wine ! ODE XXII.
Page 125 - I'll example you with thievery: 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 170 - 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 gave that voice to thee, 'Tis he...
Page 131 - See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jul.
Page 71 - To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine, As if to-morrow ne'er should shine ; But if to-morrow comes, why then — I'll haste to quaff my wine again. And thus, while all our days are bright, Nor time has dimmed their bloomy light, Let us the festal hours beguile With mantling cup and cordial smile ; And shed from every bowl of wine The richest drop on Bacchus...
Page 150 - ODE XXIX. YES — loving is a painful thrill, And not to love more painful still ; But...
Page 100 - 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 ? Let them effuse the azure ray With which Minerva's glances play, And -give them all that liquid fire That Venus
Page 172 - CUPID once upon a bed Of roses laid his weary head ; Luckless urchin, not to see Within the leaves a slumbering bee ! The bee awaked — with anger wild The bee awaked, and stung the child.
Page 97 - THOU whose soft and rosy hues Mimic form and soul infuse ; Best of painters ! come, portray The lovely maid that's far away. Far away, my soul ! thou art, But I've thy beauties all by heart.

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