The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
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ANACREONTIC.
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 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
290
ANACREONTIC.
TO BACCHUS.
Is it the purple grape that throws
A lustre on the sparkling eye?
Is it the nectar-draught that glows
Upon the lip of ruby dye?
Is it the Bacchanalian set
That makes old time his scythe forget;
And gives the long, long joyous night,
To fill the breast with rich delight?
A lustre on the sparkling eye?
Is it the nectar-draught that glows
Upon the lip of ruby dye?
Is it the Bacchanalian set
That makes old time his scythe forget;
And gives the long, long joyous night,
To fill the breast with rich delight?
Does wine expand the glowing soul?
Does friendship weave the magic vine,
And strengthen in the magic bowl?
Does genius own its pow'r divine?
Does science smile, and wisdom find
The nectar cup expand the mind?
And does the morn's returning light
Approve “the long, long joyous night?”
Does friendship weave the magic vine,
And strengthen in the magic bowl?
Does genius own its pow'r divine?
Does science smile, and wisdom find
The nectar cup expand the mind?
And does the morn's returning light
Approve “the long, long joyous night?”
291
If so, thou rosy god! then take
My ardent vows, and give to mirth
The fleeting hour; for thou can'st make
This mortal scene an heav'n on earth!
Bring, bring the magic cup, and we
Will laugh and chaunt the catch and glee,
That all the long and joyous night
Our hearts shall glow with rich delight!
My ardent vows, and give to mirth
The fleeting hour; for thou can'st make
This mortal scene an heav'n on earth!
Bring, bring the magic cup, and we
Will laugh and chaunt the catch and glee,
That all the long and joyous night
Our hearts shall glow with rich delight!
But if thy purple stream should prove
The spell, my finer sense to bind;
If it can dim the flame of love,
Or chill the source that warms the mind;
If reason, Bacchus, flies from thee,
I ne'er thy grov'ling slave will be!
Nor will I share thy long, long night,
Which robs the soul of pure delight.
The spell, my finer sense to bind;
If it can dim the flame of love,
Or chill the source that warms the mind;
If reason, Bacchus, flies from thee,
I ne'er thy grov'ling slave will be!
Nor will I share thy long, long night,
Which robs the soul of pure delight.
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |