ON HIMSELF. ON beds of tender myrtle leaves Where trefoil grass its carpet weaves, 'Tis the passion of my soul To quaff the health-provoking bowl. The heady goblet in his hand. Our bones are crumbled in an urn. While I live let odours flow: Thick round my brows let roses blow: Call the mistress of my heart: Love! ere yet I hence depart, To join the dance of ghosts below, I would scatter every woe. THE ROSE. LET us the rose of Love entwine Round the cheek-flush'd God of wine: As the rose its gaudy leaves Round our twisted temples weaves, Let us sip the time away; Let us laugh, as blithe as they. Rose, oh rose, the gem of flowers! Rose, the care of vernal Hours! Rose, of every God the joy! With roses Venus' darling boy Links the Graces in a round, With him in flowery fetters bound. With roses, Bacchus ! crown my head: The lyre in hand thy courts I'll tread: And, with some full-bosom'd maid, Dance, nodding with the rosy braid, That veils me with its cluster'd shade. A RACE WITH LOVE. LOVE a stem of hyacinth broke, And smote me with a quick'ning stroke; And sharply urged my sluggish pace, And bade me run with him a race. I ran o'er flood, and dell, and brake, But falter'd, bitten by a snake: My heart shrank inwards at the wound, In dying trance of faintness drown'd. Love swift his tender pinions spread With fanning motion o'er my head: And whisper'd, leaning from above, "Ah! thou wilt never learn to love!" A DREAM. Ar midnight, when my slumb'ring head As wine its swimming rapture shed: And keen their taunting envy flung. When, as I sought to snatch a kiss, The vision fled-the sleep of bliss: And, left alone, I felt in vain The tort'ring wish to sleep again. A LOVER'S WISH. ERST, on the banks of Phrygia's flood, Would clip thy shape, still closely prest: |