Poems on Several Occasions To which is added Gondibert and Birtha, A Tragedy. By William Thompson |
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SPRING;
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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SPRING;
A Translation of ODE VERNALIS.
By the Reverend Mr. Tattersal, late Fellow of Trinity Coll. Cambridge.
Care flies the Raptures of the Bowl,
'Tis jolly Bacchus fills my Soul;
I feel within the genial Fire,
And from yon Myrtle snatch my golden Lyre.
'Tis jolly Bacchus fills my Soul;
I feel within the genial Fire,
And from yon Myrtle snatch my golden Lyre.
To Thee the jocund Muse I send,
With sprightly Lay to greet my Friend:
For all Things now around look gay,
Why mayn't I laugh, as well as They?
The Fair, the Young, my Hours beguile,
And Cytherea ever wears a Smile,
With sprightly Lay to greet my Friend:
For all Things now around look gay,
Why mayn't I laugh, as well as They?
The Fair, the Young, my Hours beguile,
And Cytherea ever wears a Smile,
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Creative Goddess of the Spring!
No more of Winter's Storms I sing,
See May in wanton Joy appear
Spread his gay Wings, and fan the buxom Year.
No more of Winter's Storms I sing,
See May in wanton Joy appear
Spread his gay Wings, and fan the buxom Year.
My Friend (indulge the tender Name)
My Friend, near Isis' sacred Stream
With whom so oft I us'd to rove
Careless, in Garden, Mead, or Grove;
A Glass, a Song:—thus You and I
Have bid the golden Minutes fly,
Seen many a Sun, with sloaping Ray,
Ling'ring retire, and blest the falling Day.
My Friend, near Isis' sacred Stream
With whom so oft I us'd to rove
Careless, in Garden, Mead, or Grove;
A Glass, a Song:—thus You and I
Have bid the golden Minutes fly,
Seen many a Sun, with sloaping Ray,
Ling'ring retire, and blest the falling Day.
O tell me what soft Triumphs now
Wreath blooming Garlands round thy Brow;
What Nymph, for winning Beauty known,
Giving you Joy, compleats her own;
Whether the Graces, or the Nine
Divide thy Hours, for both are thine?
'Tis merry May, Swains, greet the Graces Shrine.
Wreath blooming Garlands round thy Brow;
What Nymph, for winning Beauty known,
Giving you Joy, compleats her own;
Whether the Graces, or the Nine
Divide thy Hours, for both are thine?
'Tis merry May, Swains, greet the Graces Shrine.
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To frolic on the tufted Grass,
To view clear Waters as they pass,
To mark the shining, shivering Gleam
That darts, and dances on the Stream,
To court the Muse, toy with the Fair,
(Pleasures like these O! may I ever share)
To view clear Waters as they pass,
To mark the shining, shivering Gleam
That darts, and dances on the Stream,
To court the Muse, toy with the Fair,
(Pleasures like these O! may I ever share)
The Season bids: A Friend or two,
Ingenious, affable, like you;
Happy at sudden Reparties,
Whose Answers bite, yet biting please,
To kindle Mirth: and let me join
Bacchus, the purple Sovereign of the Vine.
Ingenious, affable, like you;
Happy at sudden Reparties,
Whose Answers bite, yet biting please,
To kindle Mirth: and let me join
Bacchus, the purple Sovereign of the Vine.
May god-like Handel now inspire
The tuneful Pow'rs, and fill the Choir:
Ianthe, charming as she sings,
Wake with a nimble Touch th' harmonious Strings.
The tuneful Pow'rs, and fill the Choir:
Ianthe, charming as she sings,
Wake with a nimble Touch th' harmonious Strings.
Listen, ye Heavens, to Strains, above
Whate're the starry Court of Jove,
Lost in melodious Raptures, hears
Amid the silver-sounding Spheres;
Where Orbs on Orbs in Concert rowl,
And Musick trembles round from Pole to Pole.
Whate're the starry Court of Jove,
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Amid the silver-sounding Spheres;
Where Orbs on Orbs in Concert rowl,
And Musick trembles round from Pole to Pole.
O melting Sound! when Sleep unseen
Just steals upon the Cyprian Queen,
Indulging in th' Idalian Shade,
Stretcht on a Couch, of Roses made,
The Lute soft-warbling, such the Air
That undulating Plays, and lulls th' immortal Fair.
Just steals upon the Cyprian Queen,
Indulging in th' Idalian Shade,
Stretcht on a Couch, of Roses made,
The Lute soft-warbling, such the Air
That undulating Plays, and lulls th' immortal Fair.
The Flames that feed within my Breast!
I faint, I dye, with Charms opprest;
Her Voice, her Face, her sweet Spinnet,
The Neck of Iv'ry, and the Hair of Jet.
I faint, I dye, with Charms opprest;
Her Voice, her Face, her sweet Spinnet,
The Neck of Iv'ry, and the Hair of Jet.
So languishes, and fades away
The Flow'r beneath the Blaze of Day;
Quick, my Companions, quick apply
Some cooling, sovereign Remedy:
Metcalf, to sooth a burning Pain,
By Pæan taught, may try, but try in vain.
The Flow'r beneath the Blaze of Day;
Quick, my Companions, quick apply
Some cooling, sovereign Remedy:
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By Pæan taught, may try, but try in vain.
Not Metcalf's Skill, tho' known to Fame,
Can slake the Fury of my Flame,
Not all his Juices quench; nor yet
Dear Friend, the Flow of your engaging Wit.
Can slake the Fury of my Flame,
Not all his Juices quench; nor yet
Dear Friend, the Flow of your engaging Wit.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |