Odes of Anacreon translated from the Greek, into English verse |
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| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XX. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| L. |
| LI. | LI.—THE ROSE. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LXII. |
| LXVI. |
 | Odes of Anacreon |  |
LI.—THE ROSE.
(By Dr. Broome.)
Come, lyrist, tune thy harp, and play
Responsive to my vocal lay;
Gently touch it, while I sing
The rose, the glory of the spring.
To heaven the rose in fragrance flies,
The sweetest incense of the skies.
Responsive to my vocal lay;
Gently touch it, while I sing
The rose, the glory of the spring.
To heaven the rose in fragrance flies,
The sweetest incense of the skies.
Thee, joy of earth, when vernal hours
Pour forth a blooming waste of flowers
The gaily-smiling Graces wear
A trophy in their flowing hair:
Thee Venus, queen of beauty, loves;
And, crown'd with thee, more graceful moves.
In fabled song, and tuneful lays,
Their favourite rose the Muses praise:
To pluck the rose the virgin train
With blood their pretty fingers stain:
Nor dread the pointed terrors round,
That threaten and inflict a wound:
See! how they wave the charming toy,
Now kiss, now snuff the fragrant joy.
Pour forth a blooming waste of flowers
The gaily-smiling Graces wear
A trophy in their flowing hair:
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And, crown'd with thee, more graceful moves.
In fabled song, and tuneful lays,
Their favourite rose the Muses praise:
To pluck the rose the virgin train
With blood their pretty fingers stain:
Nor dread the pointed terrors round,
That threaten and inflict a wound:
See! how they wave the charming toy,
Now kiss, now snuff the fragrant joy.
The rose the poets strive to praise,
And for it would exchange their bays;
O! ever to the sprightly feast
Admitted, welcome, pleasing guest!
But chiefly when the goblet flows,
And rosy wreaths adorn our brows!
Lovely smiling rose, how sweet
All objects where thy beauties meet!
Aurora, with a blushing ray,
And rosy fingers, spreads the day:
The Graces more enchanting show,
When rosy blushes paint their snow;
And every pleas'd beholder seeks
The rose in Cytherea's cheeks.
And for it would exchange their bays;
O! ever to the sprightly feast
Admitted, welcome, pleasing guest!
But chiefly when the goblet flows,
And rosy wreaths adorn our brows!
Lovely smiling rose, how sweet
All objects where thy beauties meet!
Aurora, with a blushing ray,
And rosy fingers, spreads the day:
The Graces more enchanting show,
When rosy blushes paint their snow;
And every pleas'd beholder seeks
The rose in Cytherea's cheeks.
When pain afflicts, or sickness grieves,
Its juice the drooping heart relieves;
And, after death, its odours shed
A pleasing fragrance o'er the dead;
And when its withering charms decay,
And sinking, fading, die away;
Triumphant o'er the rage of time,
It keeps the fragrance of its prime.
Come, lyrist, join to sing the birth
Of this sweet offspring of the earth!
When Venus from the ocean's bed
Rais'd o'er the waves her lovely head;
When warlike Pallas sprung from Jove,
Tremendous to the powers above,
To grace the world the teeming earth
Gave the fragrant infant birth;
And, ‘This, (she cried) I this ordain
My favourite, queen of flowers to reign.’
But first, the' assembled gods debate
The future wonder to create:
Its juice the drooping heart relieves;
And, after death, its odours shed
A pleasing fragrance o'er the dead;
And when its withering charms decay,
And sinking, fading, die away;
Triumphant o'er the rage of time,
It keeps the fragrance of its prime.
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Of this sweet offspring of the earth!
When Venus from the ocean's bed
Rais'd o'er the waves her lovely head;
When warlike Pallas sprung from Jove,
Tremendous to the powers above,
To grace the world the teeming earth
Gave the fragrant infant birth;
And, ‘This, (she cried) I this ordain
My favourite, queen of flowers to reign.’
But first, the' assembled gods debate
The future wonder to create:
Agreed at length, from heaven they threw
A drop of rich nectareous dew:
A bramble-stem the drop receives,
And straight the rose adorns the leaves.
The gods to Bacchus gave the flower,
To grace him in the genial hour.
A drop of rich nectareous dew:
A bramble-stem the drop receives,
And straight the rose adorns the leaves.
The gods to Bacchus gave the flower,
To grace him in the genial hour.
| Odes of Anacreon | |