Poems on Several Occasions With Imitations from Horace, Ovid, Martial, Theocritus, Bachylides, Anacreon, &c. To which is prefix'd A Discourse on Criticism, and the Liberty of Writing. In a letter to a Friend. By Samuel Cobb ... The Third Edition. To which is added, Poems on the Duke of Marlborough, Prince Eugene, the Electoral Prince of Hannover, with other Poems. Never before Printed |
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A DITHYRAMBICK:
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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A DITHYRAMBICK:
Imitated from the Greek of Bacchylides.
Γλυκει αναγκη σευομενα κυλικων.
I.
BACCHUS , the Seed of Thund'ring Jove,Begot the Queen of Love.
Whatever Ancient Poets feign,
Who, in a cold and sober Vein,
Thought sprightly Heat could from dull;
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The greatest of the Deities.
But sure a Goddess so Divine
Would scorn th' ennervate Froth and unperforming Brine
And owe her Birth to nothing less than Wine.
With all her little hoves I see her swim
Above the Glass, and sparkle on the Brim.
Down, down she goes, o'er ev'ry Part
The Gentle Goddess reigns:
I feel her trickle in my Veins,
And steal upon my Heart.
My Liver, and my Blood she warms,
Now, now I view my SERAPHINA's Charms,
And now I clasp her in my Arms.
I ask not Winds to cool my Fire,
But bid them hasten, and remove
Those grave Impertinents which damp my Love
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Blow then beyond the farthest East and West,
And in the Ganges plunge Despair,
As in this Glass I drown my Care,
And drive it an Eternal Exile from my Breast.
II.
Hence, dreaming Loyterer! the Spring draws nigh;We'll to the Wars: Bid the Drum beat,
And Trumpet sound: For we will meet
In Battle, and prevent th' insulting Enemy.
Why this delaying? Come, march on,
Let not the Rhine, nor Sea your Passage stop;
But swim it o'er, or drink it up:
Till we have Hannibal out gone:
Or that poor weeping Conqueror of Macedon.
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A Tear, except it runs in red.
We'll spend our precious Gore,
And when that's out we'll drink for more,
And fill our Veins with nobler Blood, and better Life restore.
Come on! My leading Genius calls,
Storm Namure, and shake the Walls.
Down, down they fall:
Death and Destruction triumph over All,
And we reign Arbitrary Monarchs o'er the Conquer'd Ball.
III.
Whatever I beholdIs Silver all, and Indian Gold.
Crœsus, and He who drank the foaming Bowl
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Compar'd to Me,
To whom the Riches of the Sea
With ev'ry Billow rowl.
No: I shall ne'er be poor, shall never pine
For want of Money, or of Wine.
Here's a whole Fleet, a Cargo come,
Some from the Streights, from the East Indies some.
Some fill my Granaries with Corn,
And some into my Coffers pour
All Pointy's pillag'd Wealth, an unexhausted Store:
Here rowls a Sea of Wine from Bourdeaux and Leghorn.
So can the pow'rful Grape our Reason cheat,
And o'er our giddy Fancy reign.
Till from the Trance recover'd, we regain
Our better Minds, and find it all Deceit.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |