HORACE.
WHITHER through wastes unscanned by mortal eye Bear'st thou me, Bacchus ; through what paths nntrod Evoe ! spare me ! spare thy votary Filled with the fierce, swift spirit of the God.
From what deep cavern to the listening pines Great Caesar's anthemed triumph must I fling, And point his star amid celestial signs P A portent strange, a mystery, I sing !
I wandered, lost : a vision on me fell:
A glory bursting from the broad-rimmed Sun Smote with strong light the phantom-haunted dell : Then through the reddening pine-stems distant shone
Green fields, and sparkling banks, and rivers deep.
Mine eyes were opened ! motionless I gazed ; As some Bacchante starting from her sleep
On thunder-riven mountain, stares amazed At snow-clad plains of Thrace beneath her spread, And Rhodope with all its barbarous horde, And Hebrus foaming o'er his rocky bed.
Hear me, Lensaan Bacchus ! Hear me, lord Of Maenads, and the Naiad race whose floods With mighty arms down rugged gorges bear Uprooted oaks, the monarchs of the woods.
Lead on, resistless God ! I know not fear ; Peril is sweet near thee, when o'er thy brow The bleeding grape and glist'ning ivy twine.
Soft notes, and dulcet lays, beseem not now ; I chant immortal Reams, hymns divine.
STEPHEN DE VERE.
Previous page
