Bacchus in Tuscany: A Dithyrambic Poem

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J. and H.L. Hunt, 1825 - 228 страници
 

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Страница 134 - Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth ! 0 for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim...
Страница 100 - Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratic, Shook the Arsenal and fulmined over Greece, To Macedon, and Artaxerxes...
Страница 60 - Some few vapours thou may'st raise. The weak brain may serve to amaze, But to the reins and nobler heart Canst nor life nor heat impart. Brother of Bacchus, later born, The old world was sure forlorn Wanting thee, that aidest more The god's victories than before All his panthers, and the brawls Of his piping Bacchanals. These, as stale, we disallow, Or judge of thee meant: only thou His true Indian conquest art ; And, for ivy round his dart, The reformed god now weaves A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.
Страница 78 - Are brought ; and feel by turns the bitter change Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce. From beds of raging fire to starve in ice...
Страница 214 - Oh, never Shall we two exercise, like twins of Honour, Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses, Like proud seas under us...
Страница 60 - Bacchus' black servant, negro fine; Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon Thy begrimed complexion, And, for thy pernicious sake, More and greater oaths to break Than reclaimed lovers take "Gainst women : thou thy siege dost lay Much too in the female way, While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath Faster than kisses or than death.
Страница 143 - His legions, angel forms, who lay entranced, Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, High overarched, embower...
Страница 45 - em, And fops whose little fingers ache 'em. Wine, wine is your only drink ! Grief never dares to look at the brink. Six times a year to be mad with wine, I hold it no shame, but a very good sign. I, for my part, take my can, Solely to act like a gentleman, And, acting so, I care not, I, For all the hail and snow in the sky.
Страница 102 - But come; for thou, be sure, shalt give account To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep This place inviolable, and these from harm.
Страница 107 - tis, That in the drinking Swallowed thinking, And was the receipt for bliss. Thence it is, that ever and aye, When he doth...

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