Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow Lord Thurlow |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. | ODE XVII.
|
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
LV. |
Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow | ||
25
ODE XVII.
[Vulcan, that brave silver take]
Vulcan, that brave silver take,
And carve it nobly for my sake;
Carve me a bowl, and carve it so,
That I my native thoughts may know:
Let me not see there panoply;
For what are wars, or fights to me?
But make it hollow, make it deep;
An ocean of brave wine to keep.
And carve it nobly for my sake;
Carve me a bowl, and carve it so,
That I my native thoughts may know:
Let me not see there panoply;
For what are wars, or fights to me?
But make it hollow, make it deep;
An ocean of brave wine to keep.
Carve me upon it neither stars,
Nor the bright-shining Waggoners,
Nor fierce Orion, full of woe:
What with the Pleiads should I do?
What with Boötes' foolish lights?
A braver thirst my soul invites:
Make me soft vines, and o'er the bowl
Let the swelling fruitage roll;
And the golden deities,
That are to Bacchus true allies,
Beating the earth with steps of love,
Cupid, and Bathyllus move.
Nor the bright-shining Waggoners,
Nor fierce Orion, full of woe:
What with the Pleiads should I do?
What with Boötes' foolish lights?
A braver thirst my soul invites:
Make me soft vines, and o'er the bowl
Let the swelling fruitage roll;
26
That are to Bacchus true allies,
Beating the earth with steps of love,
Cupid, and Bathyllus move.
Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow | ||