 | Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow |  |
25
ODE XVII.
[Vulcan, that brave silver take]
Vulcan, that brave silver take,
And carve it nobly for my sake;
Carve me a bowl, and carve it so,
That I my native thoughts may know:
Let me not see there panoply;
For what are wars, or fights to me?
But make it hollow, make it deep;
An ocean of brave wine to keep.
And carve it nobly for my sake;
Carve me a bowl, and carve it so,
That I my native thoughts may know:
Let me not see there panoply;
For what are wars, or fights to me?
But make it hollow, make it deep;
An ocean of brave wine to keep.
Carve me upon it neither stars,
Nor the bright-shining Waggoners,
Nor fierce Orion, full of woe:
What with the Pleiads should I do?
What with Boötes' foolish lights?
A braver thirst my soul invites:
Make me soft vines, and o'er the bowl
Let the swelling fruitage roll;
And the golden deities,
That are to Bacchus true allies,
Beating the earth with steps of love,
Cupid, and Bathyllus move.
Nor the bright-shining Waggoners,
Nor fierce Orion, full of woe:
What with the Pleiads should I do?
What with Boötes' foolish lights?
A braver thirst my soul invites:
Make me soft vines, and o'er the bowl
Let the swelling fruitage roll;
26
That are to Bacchus true allies,
Beating the earth with steps of love,
Cupid, and Bathyllus move.
| Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow | |