When I behold the festive train Of dancing youth, I'm young again! Memory wakes her magic trance, And wings me lightly through the dance. Come, Cybeba, smiling maid! Cull the flower and twine the braid;...
Methinks, the pictured bull we see Is amorous Jove--it must be he! How fondly blest he seems to bear That fairest of Phoenician fair! How proud he breasts the foamy tide,...
Ripened by the solar beam, Now the ruddy clusters teem, In osier baskets borne along By all the festal vintage throng Of rosy youths and virgins fair, Ripe as the melting fruits they bear....
While we invoke the wreathed spring, Resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing; Resplendent rose, the flower of flowers, Whose breath perfumes the Olympian bowers;...
He, who instructs the youthful crew To bathe them in the brimmer's dew, And taste, uncloyed by rich excesses, All the bliss that wine possesses; He, who inspires the youth to bound...
Whose was the artist hand that spread Upon this disk the ocean's bed? And, in a flight of fancy, high As aught on earthly wing can fly, Depicted thus, in semblance warm,...
When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's' pinion, Escapes like any faithless minion,[1] And flies me (as he flies me ever),[2] Do I pursue him? never, never! No, let the false deserter go,...
Awake to life, my sleeping shell, To Phoebus let thy numbers swell; And though no glorious prize be thine, No Pythian wreath around thee twine, Yet every hour is glory's hour...
Youth's endearing charms are fled; Hoary locks deform my head; Bloomy graces, dalliance gay, All the flowers of life decay.[2] Withering age begins to trace...
Fill me, boy, as deep a draught, As e'er was filled, as e'er was quaffed; But let the water amply flow, To cool the grape's intemperate glow;[2] Let not the fiery god be single,...
To Love, the soft and blooming child, I touch the harp in descant wild; To Love, the babe of Cyprian bowers, The boy, who breathes and blushes flowers;...
Haste thee, nymph, whose well-aimed spear Wounds the fleeting mountain-deer! Dian, Jove's immortal child, Huntress of the savage wild! Goddess with the sun-bright hair!...
They wove the lotus band to deck And fan with pensile wreath each neck; And every guest, to shade his head, Three little fragrant chaplets spread;[1] And one was of the Egyptian leaf,...
Like some wanton filly sporting, Maid Of Thrace, thou flyest my courting. Wanton filly! tell me why Thou trip'st away, with scornful eye, And seem'st to think my doating heart...
To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, Fairest of all that fairest shine; To thee, who rulest with darts of fire This world of mortals, young Desire! And oh! thou nuptial Power, to thee...
Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn The wealth of Amalthea's horn; Nor should I ask to call the throne Of the Tartessian prince my own;[1] To totter through his train of years, The victim of declining fears....
Now Neptune's month our sky deforms, The angry night-cloud teems with storms; And savage winds, infuriate driven, Fly howling in the face of heaven! Now, now, my friends, the gathering gloom...
A broken cake, with honey sweet, Is all my spare and simple treat: And while a generous bowl I crown To float my little banquet down, I take the soft, the amorous lyre,...
Fare thee well, perfidious maid, My soul, too long on earth delayed, Delayed, perfidious girl, by thee, Is on the wing for liberty. I fly to seek a kindlier sphere, Since thou hast ceased to love me here!