Part 10 (1/2)
Yes, I could love, could softly yield To pa.s.sion all my willing breast, And fondly listen to the voice That oft invites me to be blest;
That still, when Fancy, lost in bliss, Stands gazing on the form divine, So sweetly whispers to my soul, O make the heavenly Julia thine!
But hush, thou fascinating voice!
Hence visionary extacy!
Yes, I could love, but ah! I fear She would not deign to smile on me.
SONG TO BACCHUS.
Come along, jolly Bacchus! no longer delay; See'st thou not how the table with bottles is crown'd?
See'st thou not how thy votaries, impatient to pay Their devotion to thee, are all waiting around?
O come then, propitious to our invocation, To preside of thy rites at the solemnization.
Hark! the voice of Champagne, from its prison set free, And the music of gla.s.ses that merrily ring, Thy arrival announce, and invite us to glee; With what gladness we welcome thee, vine-crowned King!
To honour thee, Bacchus! we pour a libation, And the lofty roof echoes our loud salutation.
On that wine-loaded altar, erected to thee, Sherry, burgundy, claret, invitingly s.h.i.+ne; While all thy rich gifts thus collected we see, We greet thy munificence boundless, divine.
From these we already inhale animation, Our hearts and heads warmth, and our souls elevation.
As thy nectar, kind Bacchus! more copiously flows, We purge off the cold dregs that are earthy, profane; Each breast with thy own G.o.dlike character glows; There truth, generosity, happiness reign.
Hail Bacchus! we hail thee in high exultation; Thou hast blest us, kind G.o.d! with thy full inspiration.
ON SEEING THE APOLLO BELVIDERE.
What majesty! what elegance and grace!
The form how perfect! how divine the face!
In admiration rapt, I gazing stand:-- Is this a statue wrought by mortal hand?
No! 'tis Apollo's self, methinks I see; I feel the presence of the Deity.
INSCRIPTION FOR THE APOLLO BELVIDERE.
O all ye Sons of Taste! with raptured sight Behold this image of the G.o.d of light; Admire its whole, admire its every part; 'Tis sculpture's master-work, the boast of Art.
Not with more glory in his heavenly sphere The G.o.d appears, than in his Image here.
EPITAPH ON NELSON.