 | A Collection of Original Poems |  |
21
The 25th Ode of the 3d Book of Horace Imitated.
TO BACCHUS.
Whither, immortal god of wine,
Oh! whither would'st thou bear me, tell;
While in my face thy glories shine,
And my enraptur'd bosom swell.
Oh! whither would'st thou bear me, tell;
While in my face thy glories shine,
And my enraptur'd bosom swell.
Where's the blest grot, the happy cave,
Destin'd to eccho with the fame
Of Cæsar, great, and good, and brave,
While heav'n with Jove's enrolls his name.
Destin'd to eccho with the fame
Of Cæsar, great, and good, and brave,
While heav'n with Jove's enrolls his name.
To deeds sublime I tune the lyre,
Deeds ne'er before by muse express'd;
While you the awful theme inspire,
The sacred ardor warms my breast.
Deeds ne'er before by muse express'd;
While you the awful theme inspire,
The sacred ardor warms my breast.
23
A Bacchanal thus rous'd from sleep,
On some stupendous mountain's brow,
Looks with surprize adown the steep,
Where Heber's waters roll below;
On some stupendous mountain's brow,
Looks with surprize adown the steep,
Where Heber's waters roll below;
Or Rhodope's aspiring hill
To savage Orgies lifts its head,
Where festal shouts the vallies fill;
Or Thrace, with flaky snows bespred.
To savage Orgies lifts its head,
Where festal shouts the vallies fill;
Or Thrace, with flaky snows bespred.
What joy to tread the pathless grove,
Or lonely rock; where free from woes,
Fearless of care and pain, we rove;
Where in blest silence we repose.
Or lonely rock; where free from woes,
Fearless of care and pain, we rove;
Where in blest silence we repose.
Aid, Bacchus, aid the flowing verse;
And thus inflam'd with rapture high,
No meaner things I shall rehearse,
But themes that lift us to the sky.
And thus inflam'd with rapture high,
No meaner things I shall rehearse,
But themes that lift us to the sky.
24
Oh! you to whom the Naiads bow,
Whom jolly Bacchanals adore,
With all their rage inspire me now,
And more than mortal I shall soar.
Whom jolly Bacchanals adore,
With all their rage inspire me now,
And more than mortal I shall soar.
Then be the danger what it may,
'Tis Bacchus leads—I cannot fear—
Vine-crown'd Bacchus shews the way;
'Tis sweet—'tis great to bravely dare.
'Tis Bacchus leads—I cannot fear—
Vine-crown'd Bacchus shews the way;
'Tis sweet—'tis great to bravely dare.
| A Collection of Original Poems | |