Odes of Anacreon translated from the Greek, into English verse |
 |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XX. | XX.—TO HIS MISTRESS. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LXII. |
| LXVI. |
 | Odes of Anacreon |  |
33
XX.—TO HIS MISTRESS.
(By Dr. Broome.)
The gods o'er mortals prove their sway,
And steal them from themselves away.
Transform'd by their almighty hands,
Sad Niobe an image stands;
And Philomel, up-borne on wings,
Through air her mournful story sings.
And steal them from themselves away.
Transform'd by their almighty hands,
35
And Philomel, up-borne on wings,
Through air her mournful story sings.
Would heaven, indulgent to my vow,
The happy change I wish allow;
Thy envied mirror I would be,
That thou might'st always gaze on me;
And, could my naked heart appear,
Thou'dst see thyself—for thou art there!
Or were I made thy folding vest,
That thou might'st clasp me to thy breast!
Or, turn'd into a fount, to lave
Thy naked beauties in my wave!
Thy bosom-cincture I would grow,
To warm those little hills of snow:
Thy ointment, in such fragrant streams
To wander o'er thy beauteous limbs;
Thy chain of shining pearls, to deck
And close embrace thy graceful neck:
A very sandal I would be,
To tread on—if trod on by thee.
The happy change I wish allow;
Thy envied mirror I would be,
That thou might'st always gaze on me;
And, could my naked heart appear,
Thou'dst see thyself—for thou art there!
Or were I made thy folding vest,
That thou might'st clasp me to thy breast!
Or, turn'd into a fount, to lave
Thy naked beauties in my wave!
Thy bosom-cincture I would grow,
To warm those little hills of snow:
Thy ointment, in such fragrant streams
To wander o'er thy beauteous limbs;
Thy chain of shining pearls, to deck
And close embrace thy graceful neck:
A very sandal I would be,
To tread on—if trod on by thee.
| Odes of Anacreon | |