A collection of original poems and translations By John Whaley |
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To the Sparrows at Menwinyon in Cornwal. |
 | A collection of original poems and translations |  |
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To the Sparrows at Menwinyon in Cornwal.
Birds, in Joy all Birds excelling,
Happy Slaves to endless Love,
Happier here than if your dwelling
Was the sacred Cyprian Grove.
Happy Slaves to endless Love,
Happier here than if your dwelling
Was the sacred Cyprian Grove.
What tho' those celestial Sparrows
Boast their Food from Venus' Hands,
And their Feathers wing the Arrows,
With which Cupid all commands?
Boast their Food from Venus' Hands,
And their Feathers wing the Arrows,
With which Cupid all commands?
Tell 'em Beauty's all Opinion,
And ye much mistaken are,
If the Sisters at Menwinyon
Out go not the Graces far.
And ye much mistaken are,
If the Sisters at Menwinyon
Out go not the Graces far.
Tell the Charms ye daily gaze on,
As ye hop the Woods among,
Such no Mortal e'er set Eyes on,
Such Catullus never sung.
As ye hop the Woods among,
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Such Catullus never sung.
Were his Mistress' Sparrow living,
And these Sisters to him shown,
He poor Bird would die with grieving,
Seeing Lesbia so out done.
And these Sisters to him shown,
He poor Bird would die with grieving,
Seeing Lesbia so out done.
Here then, Sparrows, each gay Morning
With your chirping Lays salute,
Hither each cool Eve returning
Nestle midst the Leaves and Fruit.
With your chirping Lays salute,
Hither each cool Eve returning
Nestle midst the Leaves and Fruit.
And if e're your Rest be broken
By the Nets of some rude Clown,
To the Sisters be it spoken,
And they'll kill him with a Frown.
By the Nets of some rude Clown,
To the Sisters be it spoken,
And they'll kill him with a Frown.
| A collection of original poems and translations | |