Odes of Anacreon, Band 1J. Carpenter, 1810 |
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Achilles Tatius Amor Anacreon and Sappho ancients Angerianus Apollo Apuleius Aulus Gellius Bacchus bard Barnes Bathyllus beauty blisses blushing bosom bowl breast breath brow Catullus charms Colomesius creon Cupid dart Degen delicate Diogenes Laertius edition elegant English verse epigram epithet eyes fancy feel fire flame flew flowers Gail girl glowing grace grove hæc hair heart Henry Stephen idea imitated this ode Ionia kiss languid Latin Longepierre has quoted lyre Madame Dacier maid Maximus Tyrius mistress Monsieur Muses ne'er night nymphs o'er ODES OF ANACREON Olaus Borrichius Paint Plato poem poet poet's Polycrates Quæ quaff racter rose rosy says Scaliger sigh sleep smile song soul sweet Teian tell thee thine thou thought trembled twine Vatican Venus wanton warm wild wine wing Αγε δε Ει εις εν Ερωτα ετε και μεν μη μοι ποτ προς τε ὡς
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Seite 158 - Whatever decks the velvet field, Whate'er the circling seasons yield, Whatever buds, whatever blows, For thee it buds, for thee it grows. Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear, To him thy friendly notes are dear; For thou art mild as matin dew, And still, when summer's flowery hue Begins to paint the bloomy plain, We hear thy sweet prophetic strain; Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, And bless the notes and thee revere! The Muses love thy shrilly tone ; Apollo calls thee all his own; 'Twas he who...
Seite 163 - O mother ! — I am wounded through I die with pain— in sooth I do ! Stung by some little angry thing, Some serpent on a tiny wing — A bee it was — for once, I know, I heard a rustic call it so.
Seite 114 - The vapours, which at evening weep, Are beverage to the swelling deep ; And when the rosy sun appears, He drinks the ocean's misty tears. The moon too quaffs her paly stream Of lustre from the solar beam. Then, hence with all your sober thinking ! Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; I'll make the laws of nature mine, And pledge the universe in wine ! ODE XXII.
Seite 113 - The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea : the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun : The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears : the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft.
Seite 56 - I'm sure I neither know nor care ; But this I know, and this I feel, As onward to the tomb I steal, That still as death approaches nearer. The joys of life are sweeter, dearer ; And had I but an hour to live, That little hour to bliss I'd giw ! ODE VIII.
Seite 20 - He steals us so insensibly along with him, that we sympathize even in his excesses. In his amatory odes there is a delicacy of compliment not to be found in any other ancient poet. Love at that period was rather an unrefined emotion ; and the intercourse of the sexes was ani mated more by passion than sentiment.
Seite 157 - THOU, of all creation blest, Sweet insect ! that delight'st to rest Upon the wild wood's leafy tops, To drink the dew that morning drops, And chirp thy song with such a glee, That happiest kings may envy thee ! Whatever decks the velvet field, Whate'er the circling seasons yield, Whatever buds, whatever blows, For thee it buds, for thee it grows. Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear, To him thy friendly notes are dear ; For thou art mild as matin dew...
Seite 60 - PRAY thee, by the gods above, Give me the mighty bowl I love, And let me sing, in wild delight, " I will — I will be mad to-night...
Seite 21 - ... from yielding to the freedom of language, which has sullied the pages of all the other poets. His descriptions are warm ; but the warmth is in the ideas, not the words.
Seite 103 - By Celia's arbour all the night Hang, humid wreath, the lover's vow ; And haply, at the morning light, My love shall twine thee round her brow. Then, if upon her bosom bright Some drops of dew shall fall from thee, Tell her, they are not drops of night, But tears of sorrow shed by me ! In the poem of Mr. Sheridan's, " Uncouth is this mosscovered grotto of stone...