Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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Absence.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Absence.
Neglected, now, behold my Tresses flow:
Nor sparkling Diamonds on my Fingers glow.
All plain, and cheap, the humble Weeds I wear:
No Golden Ornament adorns my Hair:
My Locks, no longer now, perfum'd diffuse
The fragrant Odours of Arabian Dews.
Why should I dress, or practice Arts like these?
He's gone whom only 'twas my Wish to please!—
Nor sparkling Diamonds on my Fingers glow.
All plain, and cheap, the humble Weeds I wear:
No Golden Ornament adorns my Hair:
My Locks, no longer now, perfum'd diffuse
The fragrant Odours of Arabian Dews.
Why should I dress, or practice Arts like these?
He's gone whom only 'twas my Wish to please!—
I view the Grots, rough-arch'd, whose mould'ring Stone,
Fair, once, to me as polish'd Marble shone.
The Grove I view, beneath whose friendly Shade,
We oft have found a soft delightful Bed:
But Him, the lovely Lord of Them and Me,
Nor in the Grottoes, nor the Grove I see.
What then avails the now detested Place!
To Him alone it ow'd it's ev'ry Grace.
The with'ring Grass informs me where we lay,
And the press'd Plants our mutual Weight betray:
There, down I lye, where thy dear Print I view;
But first my plenteous Tears the Turf bedew.
The Trees with falling Leaves Thee gone deplore,
And Birds sweet-warbling charm the Ear no more.—
Fair, once, to me as polish'd Marble shone.
The Grove I view, beneath whose friendly Shade,
We oft have found a soft delightful Bed:
But Him, the lovely Lord of Them and Me,
Nor in the Grottoes, nor the Grove I see.
What then avails the now detested Place!
To Him alone it ow'd it's ev'ry Grace.
The with'ring Grass informs me where we lay,
And the press'd Plants our mutual Weight betray:
5
But first my plenteous Tears the Turf bedew.
The Trees with falling Leaves Thee gone deplore,
And Birds sweet-warbling charm the Ear no more.—
More bitter than the hateful
Poyson-Plant
Sardinia yields, may I be thought by Thee:
More rough than Gorse, more vile than with'ring Weeds
Which by the Tides are cast upon the Shore:
Thus base, thus odious, let thy Swain appear,
If this Day seems not longer than a Year.—
Sardinia yields, may I be thought by Thee:
More rough than Gorse, more vile than with'ring Weeds
Which by the Tides are cast upon the Shore:
Thus base, thus odious, let thy Swain appear,
If this Day seems not longer than a Year.—
Here Junipers, and prickly Chesnuts grow,
Beneath each Tree it's Apples strew the Ground,
And ev'ry Scene with Satisfaction smiles:
But from these Hills should fair Alexis fly,
You'd find our Rivers leave their Channels dry.—
Beneath each Tree it's Apples strew the Ground,
And ev'ry Scene with Satisfaction smiles:
But from these Hills should fair Alexis fly,
You'd find our Rivers leave their Channels dry.—
Scorch'd are the Fields: with Thirst the Herbage dies:
Bacchus the Hills his viny Shade denies:
But when my Phillis comes to bless the Plain,
The wither'd Groves shall all be green again,
And Jove descend in plenteous Show'rs of Rain,—
Bacchus the Hills his viny Shade denies:
But when my Phillis comes to bless the Plain,
The wither'd Groves shall all be green again,
And Jove descend in plenteous Show'rs of Rain,—
When, in its Turn, the Moon obscure withdraws
It's Light, and setting Stars perswade to Sleep,
Lonely she pines within the empty Court:
Lies on the Couch which just before he left:
Him absent, absent still she hears and sees.—
It's Light, and setting Stars perswade to Sleep,
Lonely she pines within the empty Court:
Lies on the Couch which just before he left:
Him absent, absent still she hears and sees.—
The Rock, the Wheel, and ev'ry little Toy,
Which did the Virgin's sportful Hours employ,
In her lost Daughter's stead she fondly press'd
Close in her Lap, and hugg'd them to her Breast:
Explor'd her empty Bed, and ev'ry Place
Which her Child us'd did the sad Mother trace.—
Which did the Virgin's sportful Hours employ,
In her lost Daughter's stead she fondly press'd
Close in her Lap, and hugg'd them to her Breast:
Explor'd her empty Bed, and ev'ry Place
Which her Child us'd did the sad Mother trace.—
Thus anxious is the Bird, whose unfledg'd Young,
On some low Ash's slender Twigs are hung,
While to fetch Food she roams: her careful Breast
Is by a thousand diff'rent Fears possess'd:
Lest the rude Wind should shake them from the Tree,
Or prying Man the hidden Nest should see,
Or cruel Serpents seize the tender Prey,
And bear the helpless little Ones away.—
On some low Ash's slender Twigs are hung,
While to fetch Food she roams: her careful Breast
Is by a thousand diff'rent Fears possess'd:
7
Or prying Man the hidden Nest should see,
Or cruel Serpents seize the tender Prey,
And bear the helpless little Ones away.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |