Odes of Anacreon, tr. into Engl. verse, with notes. By T. Moore

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Page 34 - But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
Page 36 - While virgin Graces, warm with May, Fling roses o'er her dewy way. The murmuring billows of the deep Have languished into silent sleep ; And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; While cranes from hoary winter fly To flutter in a kinder sky. Now the genial star of day Dissolves the murky clouds away ; And cultured field, and winding stream, Are freshly glittering in his beam.
Page 63 - Tis sweet to hold the infant stems, Yet dropping with Aurora's gems, And fresh inhale the spicy sighs That from the weeping buds arise. When revel reigns, when mirth is high, And Bacchus beams in every eye, Our rosy fillets scent exhale, And fill with balm the fainting gale ! Oh ! there is nought in nature bright, Where roses do not shed their light...
Page 65 - The rose distils a healing balm, The beating pulse of pain to calm ; Preserves the cold inurned clay, And mocks the vestige of decay : And when at length, in pale decline, Its florid beauties fade and pine, Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath Diffuses odour e'en in death ! Oh!
Page 37 - Are sweetly tissued by his beam. Now the earth prolific swells With leafy buds and flowery bells ; Gemming shoots the olive twine, Clusters ripe festoon the vine ; All along the branches creeping, Through the velvet foliage peeping, Little infant fruits we see Nursing into luxury ! ODE XLVII.
Page 66 - Mellow'd by ocean's briny dews ; When, in the starry courts above, The pregnant brain of mighty Jove Disclosed the nymph of azure glance, The nymph who shakes the martial lance ! Then, then, in strange eventful hour. The earth produced an infant flower, Which sprung, with blushing tinctures drest, And wanton'd o'er its parent breast.
Page 60 - Olympus' bowers ; Whose virgin blush, of chasten'd dye, Enchants so much our mortal eye. When pleasure's bloomy season glows, The Graces love to twine the rose ; The rose...
Page 62 - Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, To cull the timid floweret thence, And wipe with tender hand away The tear that on its blushes lay! Tis sweet to hold the infant stems, Yet dropping with Aurora's gems, And fresh inhale the spicy sighs That from the weeping buds arise.
Page 126 - I love thee and hate thee, but if I can tell The cause of my love and my hate, may I die. I can feel it, alas! I can feel it too well, That I love thee and hate thee, but cannot tell why.
Page 29 - Hose ! thou art the sweetest flower That ever drank the amber shower ; Rose ! thou art the fondest child Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild ! E'en the gods, who walk the sky, Are amorous of thy scented sigh.

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