 | A collection of original poems and translations |  |
Perish then Bacchus, and his darling Vine,
And bold Lycurgus, let thy Task be mine,
And freely I'll the Godhead's Wrath endure,
Whatever Wounds he gives my Theme can cure;
And arm'd with Water I'll maintain the Field,
'Gainst him who made the Earth-born Giants yield.
For sure Apollo will my Cause avow,
Who taught Castalia's temp'rate Fount to flow,
Who only drinks of Aganippe's Stream,
That knows no Warmth but from his own pure Beam.
And bold Lycurgus, let thy Task be mine,
And freely I'll the Godhead's Wrath endure,
Whatever Wounds he gives my Theme can cure;
And arm'd with Water I'll maintain the Field,
'Gainst him who made the Earth-born Giants yield.
For sure Apollo will my Cause avow,
Who taught Castalia's temp'rate Fount to flow,
Who only drinks of Aganippe's Stream,
That knows no Warmth but from his own pure Beam.
| A collection of original poems and translations | |