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IV. | ODE IV. ON HIMSELF.
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XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
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XLI. |
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XLVII. |
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LIX. |
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LXI. |
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LXIV. |
LXV. |
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LXVIII. |
LXIX. |
LXX. |
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XX. |
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IV. |
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IX. |
The works of Anacreon, Sappho, Bion, Moschus and Musæus | ||
13
ODE IV. ON HIMSELF.
Reclin'd at ease on this soft BedWith fragrant Leaves of Myrtle spread
And flow'ry Lote, I'll now resign
My Cares, and quaff the rosy Wine.
In decent Robe, behind him bound,
Cupid shall serve the Goblet round:
For fast away our Moments steal,
Like the swift Chariot's rolling Wheel:
14
And soon the Race of Life is run;
Then, then, alas! we droop, we die,
And sunk in Dissolution lie;
Our Frame no Symmetry retains;
Nought but a little Dust remains.
Why on the Tomb are Odours shed?
Why pour'd Libations to the dead?
15
Rich Wines and balmy Fragrance give;
Now, now, the rosy Wreath prepare,
And hither call the lovely Fair.
16
Ere yet I lead the Dance of Death,
For Joy my Sorrows I'll resign,
And drown my Cares in rosy Wine.
The works of Anacreon, Sappho, Bion, Moschus and Musæus | ||