'TWAS in an airy dream of night,I fancied that I wing'd my flightOn pinions fleeter than the wind,While little Love, whose feet were twined(I know not why) with chains of lead,Pursued me as I trembling fled;Pursued—and could I e'er have thought?—Swift as the moment I was caught!What does the wanton fancy meanBy such a strange, illusive scene?
'TWAS in an airy dream of night,I fancied that I wing'd my flightOn pinions fleeter than the wind,While little Love, whose feet were twined(I know not why) with chains of lead,Pursued me as I trembling fled;Pursued—and could I e'er have thought?—Swift as the moment I was caught!What does the wanton fancy meanBy such a strange, illusive scene?
'TWAS in an airy dream of night,I fancied that I wing'd my flightOn pinions fleeter than the wind,While little Love, whose feet were twined(I know not why) with chains of lead,Pursued me as I trembling fled;Pursued—and could I e'er have thought?—Swift as the moment I was caught!What does the wanton fancy meanBy such a strange, illusive scene?
I fear she whispers to my breast,That you, my girl, have stol'n my rest;That though my fancy, for a while,Has hung on many a woman's smile,I soon dissolved the passing vow,And ne'er was caught by love till now!
I fear she whispers to my breast,That you, my girl, have stol'n my rest;That though my fancy, for a while,Has hung on many a woman's smile,I soon dissolved the passing vow,And ne'er was caught by love till now!
ODE XXXIV.
AS in the Lemnian caves of fire,The mate of her who nursed DesireMoulded the glowing steel, to formArrows for Cupid, thrilling warm;While Venus every barb imbuesWith droppings of her honied dews;And Love (alas the victim-heart!)Tinges with gall the burning dart;Once, to this Lemnian cave of flame,The crested Lord of battles came;'Twas from the ranks of war he rush'd,His spear with many a life-drop blush'd!He saw the mystic darts, and smiledDerision on the archer-child.
AS in the Lemnian caves of fire,The mate of her who nursed DesireMoulded the glowing steel, to formArrows for Cupid, thrilling warm;While Venus every barb imbuesWith droppings of her honied dews;And Love (alas the victim-heart!)Tinges with gall the burning dart;Once, to this Lemnian cave of flame,The crested Lord of battles came;'Twas from the ranks of war he rush'd,His spear with many a life-drop blush'd!He saw the mystic darts, and smiledDerision on the archer-child.
AS in the Lemnian caves of fire,The mate of her who nursed DesireMoulded the glowing steel, to formArrows for Cupid, thrilling warm;While Venus every barb imbuesWith droppings of her honied dews;And Love (alas the victim-heart!)Tinges with gall the burning dart;Once, to this Lemnian cave of flame,The crested Lord of battles came;'Twas from the ranks of war he rush'd,His spear with many a life-drop blush'd!He saw the mystic darts, and smiledDerision on the archer-child.
'And dost thou smile?' said little Love;'Take this dart, and thou mayst prove,That though they pass the breeze's flight,My bolts are not so feathery light.'He took the shaft—and oh! thy look,Sweet Venus! when the shaft he took—He sigh'd, and felt the urchin's art;He sigh'd, in agony of heart,'It is not light—I die with pain!Take—take thy arrow back again.''No,' said the child, 'it must not be,That little dart was made for thee!'
'And dost thou smile?' said little Love;'Take this dart, and thou mayst prove,That though they pass the breeze's flight,My bolts are not so feathery light.'He took the shaft—and oh! thy look,Sweet Venus! when the shaft he took—He sigh'd, and felt the urchin's art;He sigh'd, in agony of heart,'It is not light—I die with pain!Take—take thy arrow back again.''No,' said the child, 'it must not be,That little dart was made for thee!'
ODE XXXV.
HOW I love the festive boy,Tripping wild the dance of joy!How I love the mellow sage,Smiling through the veil of age!And whene'er this man of yearsIn the dance of joy appears,Age is on his temples hung,But his heart—his heart is young!
HOW I love the festive boy,Tripping wild the dance of joy!How I love the mellow sage,Smiling through the veil of age!And whene'er this man of yearsIn the dance of joy appears,Age is on his temples hung,But his heart—his heart is young!
HOW I love the festive boy,Tripping wild the dance of joy!How I love the mellow sage,Smiling through the veil of age!And whene'er this man of yearsIn the dance of joy appears,Age is on his temples hung,But his heart—his heart is young!
ODE XXXVI.
HE, who instructs the youthful crewTo bathe them in the brimmer's dew,And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses,All the bliss that wine possesses!He, who inspires the youth to glanceIn winged circlets through the dance;Bacchus, the god again is here,And leads along the blushing year;The blushing year with rapture teems,Ready to shed those cordial streams,Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth,Illuminate the sons of earth,And when the ripe and vermeil wine,Sweet infant of the pregnant vine,Which now in mellow clusters swells,Oh! when it bursts its rosy cells,The heavenly stream shall mantling flow,To balsam every mortal woe!No youth shall then be wan or weak,For dimpling health shall light the cheek;No heart shall then desponding sigh,For wine shall bid despondence fly!Thus—till another autumn's glowShall bid another vintage flow!
HE, who instructs the youthful crewTo bathe them in the brimmer's dew,And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses,All the bliss that wine possesses!He, who inspires the youth to glanceIn winged circlets through the dance;Bacchus, the god again is here,And leads along the blushing year;The blushing year with rapture teems,Ready to shed those cordial streams,Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth,Illuminate the sons of earth,And when the ripe and vermeil wine,Sweet infant of the pregnant vine,Which now in mellow clusters swells,Oh! when it bursts its rosy cells,The heavenly stream shall mantling flow,To balsam every mortal woe!No youth shall then be wan or weak,For dimpling health shall light the cheek;No heart shall then desponding sigh,For wine shall bid despondence fly!Thus—till another autumn's glowShall bid another vintage flow!
HE, who instructs the youthful crewTo bathe them in the brimmer's dew,And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses,All the bliss that wine possesses!He, who inspires the youth to glanceIn winged circlets through the dance;Bacchus, the god again is here,And leads along the blushing year;The blushing year with rapture teems,Ready to shed those cordial streams,Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth,Illuminate the sons of earth,And when the ripe and vermeil wine,Sweet infant of the pregnant vine,Which now in mellow clusters swells,Oh! when it bursts its rosy cells,The heavenly stream shall mantling flow,To balsam every mortal woe!No youth shall then be wan or weak,For dimpling health shall light the cheek;No heart shall then desponding sigh,For wine shall bid despondence fly!Thus—till another autumn's glowShall bid another vintage flow!
ODE XXXVII.
AND whose immortal hand could shedUpon this disk the ocean's bed?And, in a frenzied flight of soulSublime as heaven's eternal pole,Imagine thus, in semblance warm,The Queen of Love's voluptuous formFloating along the silvery seaIn beauty's naked majesty!Oh! he has given the raptured sightA witching banquet of delight;And all those sacred scenes of love,Where only hallow'd eyes may rove,Lie, faintly glowing, half conceal'd,Within the lucid billows veil'd.Light as the leaf, that summer's breezeHas wafted o'er the glassy seas,She floats upon the ocean's breast,Which undulates in sleepy rest,And stealing on, she gently pillowsHer bosom on the amorous billows.Her bosom, like the humid rose,Her neck, like dewy-sparkling snows,Illume the liquid path she traces,And burn within the stream's embraces!In languid luxury soft she glides,Encircled by the azure tides,Like some fair lily, faint with weeping,Upon a bed of violets sleeping!Beneath their queen's inspiring glance,The dolphins o'er the green sea dance,Bearing in triumph young Desire,And baby Love with smiles of fire!While, sparkling on the silver waves,The tenants of the briny cavesAround the pomp in eddies play,And gleam along the watery way.
AND whose immortal hand could shedUpon this disk the ocean's bed?And, in a frenzied flight of soulSublime as heaven's eternal pole,Imagine thus, in semblance warm,The Queen of Love's voluptuous formFloating along the silvery seaIn beauty's naked majesty!Oh! he has given the raptured sightA witching banquet of delight;And all those sacred scenes of love,Where only hallow'd eyes may rove,Lie, faintly glowing, half conceal'd,Within the lucid billows veil'd.Light as the leaf, that summer's breezeHas wafted o'er the glassy seas,She floats upon the ocean's breast,Which undulates in sleepy rest,And stealing on, she gently pillowsHer bosom on the amorous billows.Her bosom, like the humid rose,Her neck, like dewy-sparkling snows,Illume the liquid path she traces,And burn within the stream's embraces!In languid luxury soft she glides,Encircled by the azure tides,Like some fair lily, faint with weeping,Upon a bed of violets sleeping!Beneath their queen's inspiring glance,The dolphins o'er the green sea dance,Bearing in triumph young Desire,And baby Love with smiles of fire!While, sparkling on the silver waves,The tenants of the briny cavesAround the pomp in eddies play,And gleam along the watery way.
AND whose immortal hand could shedUpon this disk the ocean's bed?And, in a frenzied flight of soulSublime as heaven's eternal pole,Imagine thus, in semblance warm,The Queen of Love's voluptuous formFloating along the silvery seaIn beauty's naked majesty!Oh! he has given the raptured sightA witching banquet of delight;And all those sacred scenes of love,Where only hallow'd eyes may rove,Lie, faintly glowing, half conceal'd,Within the lucid billows veil'd.Light as the leaf, that summer's breezeHas wafted o'er the glassy seas,She floats upon the ocean's breast,Which undulates in sleepy rest,And stealing on, she gently pillowsHer bosom on the amorous billows.Her bosom, like the humid rose,Her neck, like dewy-sparkling snows,Illume the liquid path she traces,And burn within the stream's embraces!In languid luxury soft she glides,Encircled by the azure tides,Like some fair lily, faint with weeping,Upon a bed of violets sleeping!Beneath their queen's inspiring glance,The dolphins o'er the green sea dance,Bearing in triumph young Desire,And baby Love with smiles of fire!While, sparkling on the silver waves,The tenants of the briny cavesAround the pomp in eddies play,And gleam along the watery way.
ODE XXXVIII.
WHILE we invoke the wreathed spring,Resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing;Resplendent rose, the flower of flowers,Whose breath perfumes Olympus' bowers;Whose virgin blush of chasten'd dye,Enchants so much our mortal eye.When pleasure's bloomy season glows,The Graces love to twine the rose;The rose is warm Dione's bliss,And flushes like Dione's kiss!Oft has the poet's magic tongueThe rose's fair luxuriance sung;And long the Muses, heavenly maids,Have rear'd it in their tuneful shades.When, at the early glance of morn,It sleeps upon the glittering thorn,'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence,To cull the timid flowret thence,And wipe with tender hand awayThe tear that on its blushes lay!'Tis sweet to hold the infant stems,Yet dropping with Aurora's gems,And fresh inhale the spicy sighsThat from the weeping buds arise.When revel reigns, when mirth is high,And Bacchus beams in every eye,Our rosy fillets scent exhale,And fill with balm the fainting gale!Oh! there is nought in nature bright,Where roses do not shed their light!When morning paints the orient skies,Her fingers burn with roseate dyes;The nymphs display the rose's charms,It mantles o'er their graceful arms;Through Cytherea's form it glows,And mingles with the living snows.The rose distils a healing balm,The beating pulse of pain to calm;Preserves the cold inurned clay,And mocks the vestige of decay:And when at length, in pale decline,Its florid beauties fade and pine,Sweet as in youth, its balmy breathDiffuses odour e'en in death!Oh! whence could such a plant have sprung?Attend—for thus the tale is sung.
WHILE we invoke the wreathed spring,Resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing;Resplendent rose, the flower of flowers,Whose breath perfumes Olympus' bowers;Whose virgin blush of chasten'd dye,Enchants so much our mortal eye.When pleasure's bloomy season glows,The Graces love to twine the rose;The rose is warm Dione's bliss,And flushes like Dione's kiss!Oft has the poet's magic tongueThe rose's fair luxuriance sung;And long the Muses, heavenly maids,Have rear'd it in their tuneful shades.When, at the early glance of morn,It sleeps upon the glittering thorn,'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence,To cull the timid flowret thence,And wipe with tender hand awayThe tear that on its blushes lay!'Tis sweet to hold the infant stems,Yet dropping with Aurora's gems,And fresh inhale the spicy sighsThat from the weeping buds arise.When revel reigns, when mirth is high,And Bacchus beams in every eye,Our rosy fillets scent exhale,And fill with balm the fainting gale!Oh! there is nought in nature bright,Where roses do not shed their light!When morning paints the orient skies,Her fingers burn with roseate dyes;The nymphs display the rose's charms,It mantles o'er their graceful arms;Through Cytherea's form it glows,And mingles with the living snows.The rose distils a healing balm,The beating pulse of pain to calm;Preserves the cold inurned clay,And mocks the vestige of decay:And when at length, in pale decline,Its florid beauties fade and pine,Sweet as in youth, its balmy breathDiffuses odour e'en in death!Oh! whence could such a plant have sprung?Attend—for thus the tale is sung.
WHILE we invoke the wreathed spring,Resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing;Resplendent rose, the flower of flowers,Whose breath perfumes Olympus' bowers;Whose virgin blush of chasten'd dye,Enchants so much our mortal eye.When pleasure's bloomy season glows,The Graces love to twine the rose;The rose is warm Dione's bliss,And flushes like Dione's kiss!Oft has the poet's magic tongueThe rose's fair luxuriance sung;And long the Muses, heavenly maids,Have rear'd it in their tuneful shades.When, at the early glance of morn,It sleeps upon the glittering thorn,'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence,To cull the timid flowret thence,And wipe with tender hand awayThe tear that on its blushes lay!'Tis sweet to hold the infant stems,Yet dropping with Aurora's gems,And fresh inhale the spicy sighsThat from the weeping buds arise.When revel reigns, when mirth is high,And Bacchus beams in every eye,Our rosy fillets scent exhale,And fill with balm the fainting gale!Oh! there is nought in nature bright,Where roses do not shed their light!When morning paints the orient skies,Her fingers burn with roseate dyes;The nymphs display the rose's charms,It mantles o'er their graceful arms;Through Cytherea's form it glows,And mingles with the living snows.The rose distils a healing balm,The beating pulse of pain to calm;Preserves the cold inurned clay,And mocks the vestige of decay:And when at length, in pale decline,Its florid beauties fade and pine,Sweet as in youth, its balmy breathDiffuses odour e'en in death!Oh! whence could such a plant have sprung?Attend—for thus the tale is sung.
When, humid, from the silvery stream,Effusing beauty's warmest beam,Venus appear'd, in flushing hues,Mellow'd by ocean's briny dews;When, in the starry courts above,The pregnant brain of mighty JoveDisclosed the nymph of azure glance,The nymph who shakes the martial lance!Then, then, in strange eventful hour,The earth produced an infant flower,Which sprung, with blushing tinctures drest,And wanton'd o'er its parent breast.The gods beheld this brilliant birth,And hail'd the Rose, the boon of earth!With nectar drops, a ruby tide,The sweetly orient buds they dyèd,And bade them bloom, the flowers divineOf him who sheds the teeming vine;And bade them on the spangled thornExpand their bosoms to the morn.
When, humid, from the silvery stream,Effusing beauty's warmest beam,Venus appear'd, in flushing hues,Mellow'd by ocean's briny dews;When, in the starry courts above,The pregnant brain of mighty JoveDisclosed the nymph of azure glance,The nymph who shakes the martial lance!Then, then, in strange eventful hour,The earth produced an infant flower,Which sprung, with blushing tinctures drest,And wanton'd o'er its parent breast.The gods beheld this brilliant birth,And hail'd the Rose, the boon of earth!With nectar drops, a ruby tide,The sweetly orient buds they dyèd,And bade them bloom, the flowers divineOf him who sheds the teeming vine;And bade them on the spangled thornExpand their bosoms to the morn.
ODE XXXIX.
WHEN I behold the festive trainOf dancing youth, I'm young again!Memory wakes her magic trance,And wings me lightly through the dance.Come, Cybeba, smiling maid!Cull the flower and twine the braid;Bid the blush of summer's roseBurn upon my brow of snows;And let me, while the wild and youngTrip the mazy dance along,Fling my heap of years away,And be as wild, as young as they.
WHEN I behold the festive trainOf dancing youth, I'm young again!Memory wakes her magic trance,And wings me lightly through the dance.Come, Cybeba, smiling maid!Cull the flower and twine the braid;Bid the blush of summer's roseBurn upon my brow of snows;And let me, while the wild and youngTrip the mazy dance along,Fling my heap of years away,And be as wild, as young as they.
WHEN I behold the festive trainOf dancing youth, I'm young again!Memory wakes her magic trance,And wings me lightly through the dance.Come, Cybeba, smiling maid!Cull the flower and twine the braid;Bid the blush of summer's roseBurn upon my brow of snows;And let me, while the wild and youngTrip the mazy dance along,Fling my heap of years away,And be as wild, as young as they.
Hither haste, some cordial soul!Give my lips the brimming bowl;Oh! you will see this hoary sageForget his locks, forget his age.He still can chant the festive hymn,He still can kiss the goblet's brim;He still can act the mellow raver,And play the fool as sweet as ever!
Hither haste, some cordial soul!Give my lips the brimming bowl;Oh! you will see this hoary sageForget his locks, forget his age.He still can chant the festive hymn,He still can kiss the goblet's brim;He still can act the mellow raver,And play the fool as sweet as ever!
ODE XL.
WE read the flying courser's nameUpon his side in marks of flame;And, by their turban'd brows alone,The warriors of the East are known.But in the lover's glowing eyes,The inlet to his bosom lies;
WE read the flying courser's nameUpon his side in marks of flame;And, by their turban'd brows alone,The warriors of the East are known.But in the lover's glowing eyes,The inlet to his bosom lies;
WE read the flying courser's nameUpon his side in marks of flame;And, by their turban'd brows alone,The warriors of the East are known.But in the lover's glowing eyes,The inlet to his bosom lies;
Thro' them we see the small faint mark,Where Love has dropt his burning spark!
Thro' them we see the small faint mark,Where Love has dropt his burning spark!
ODE XLI.
WHEN Spring begems the dewy scene,How sweet to walk the velvet green,And hear the Zephyr's languid sighs,As o'er the scented mead he flies!How sweet to mark the pouting vine,Ready to fall in tears of wine;
WHEN Spring begems the dewy scene,How sweet to walk the velvet green,And hear the Zephyr's languid sighs,As o'er the scented mead he flies!How sweet to mark the pouting vine,Ready to fall in tears of wine;
WHEN Spring begems the dewy scene,How sweet to walk the velvet green,And hear the Zephyr's languid sighs,As o'er the scented mead he flies!How sweet to mark the pouting vine,Ready to fall in tears of wine;
And with the maid, whose every sighIs love and bliss, entranced to lieWhere the imbowering branches meet—Oh! is not this divinely sweet?
And with the maid, whose every sighIs love and bliss, entranced to lieWhere the imbowering branches meet—Oh! is not this divinely sweet?
ODE XLII.
I SAW the smiling bard of pleasure,The minstrel of the Teian measure;'Twas in a vision of the night.He beam'd upon my wond'ring sight;I heard his voice, and warmly prestThe dear enthusiast to my breast.His tresses wore a silvery dye,But beauty sparkled in his eye;Sparkled in his eyes of fire,Through the mist of soft desire.His lip exhaled, whene'er he sigh'd,The fragrance of the racy tide;And, as with weak and reeling feet,He came my coral kiss to meet,
I SAW the smiling bard of pleasure,The minstrel of the Teian measure;'Twas in a vision of the night.He beam'd upon my wond'ring sight;I heard his voice, and warmly prestThe dear enthusiast to my breast.His tresses wore a silvery dye,But beauty sparkled in his eye;Sparkled in his eyes of fire,Through the mist of soft desire.His lip exhaled, whene'er he sigh'd,The fragrance of the racy tide;And, as with weak and reeling feet,He came my coral kiss to meet,
I SAW the smiling bard of pleasure,The minstrel of the Teian measure;'Twas in a vision of the night.He beam'd upon my wond'ring sight;I heard his voice, and warmly prestThe dear enthusiast to my breast.His tresses wore a silvery dye,But beauty sparkled in his eye;Sparkled in his eyes of fire,Through the mist of soft desire.His lip exhaled, whene'er he sigh'd,The fragrance of the racy tide;And, as with weak and reeling feet,He came my coral kiss to meet,
An infant, of the Cyprian band,Guided him on with tender hand.Quick from his glowing brows he drewHis braid, of many a wanton hue,I took the braid of wanton twine,It breathed of him and blush'd with wine!I hung it o'er my thoughtless brow,And ah! I feel its magic now!I feel that e'en his garland's touchCan make the bosom love too much!
An infant, of the Cyprian band,Guided him on with tender hand.Quick from his glowing brows he drewHis braid, of many a wanton hue,I took the braid of wanton twine,It breathed of him and blush'd with wine!I hung it o'er my thoughtless brow,And ah! I feel its magic now!I feel that e'en his garland's touchCan make the bosom love too much!
ODE XLIII.
GIVE me the harp of epic song,Which Homer's finger thrill'd along;But tear away the sanguine string,For war is not the theme I sing.Proclaim the laws of festal rightI'm monarch of the board to-night;And all around shall brim as high,And quaff the tide as deep as I!And when the cluster's mellowing dewsTheir warm, enchanting balm infuseOur feet shall catch th' elastic bound,And reel us through the dance's round.
GIVE me the harp of epic song,Which Homer's finger thrill'd along;But tear away the sanguine string,For war is not the theme I sing.Proclaim the laws of festal rightI'm monarch of the board to-night;And all around shall brim as high,And quaff the tide as deep as I!And when the cluster's mellowing dewsTheir warm, enchanting balm infuseOur feet shall catch th' elastic bound,And reel us through the dance's round.
GIVE me the harp of epic song,Which Homer's finger thrill'd along;But tear away the sanguine string,For war is not the theme I sing.Proclaim the laws of festal rightI'm monarch of the board to-night;And all around shall brim as high,And quaff the tide as deep as I!And when the cluster's mellowing dewsTheir warm, enchanting balm infuseOur feet shall catch th' elastic bound,And reel us through the dance's round.
Oh, Bacchus! we shall sing to thee,In wild but sweet ebriety!And flash around such sparks of thought,As Bacchus could alone have taught!Then give the harp of epic song,Which Homer's finger thrill'd along;But tear away the sanguine string,For war is not the theme I sing!
Oh, Bacchus! we shall sing to thee,In wild but sweet ebriety!And flash around such sparks of thought,As Bacchus could alone have taught!Then give the harp of epic song,Which Homer's finger thrill'd along;But tear away the sanguine string,For war is not the theme I sing!
ODE XLIV.
LISTEN to the Muse's lyre,Master of the pencil's fire!Sketch'd in painting's bold display,Many a city first pourtray;Many a city revelling free,Warm with loose festivity.Picture then a rosy train,Bacchants straying o'er the plain;Piping, as they roam along,Roundelay or shepherd-song.
LISTEN to the Muse's lyre,Master of the pencil's fire!Sketch'd in painting's bold display,Many a city first pourtray;Many a city revelling free,Warm with loose festivity.Picture then a rosy train,Bacchants straying o'er the plain;Piping, as they roam along,Roundelay or shepherd-song.
LISTEN to the Muse's lyre,Master of the pencil's fire!Sketch'd in painting's bold display,Many a city first pourtray;Many a city revelling free,Warm with loose festivity.Picture then a rosy train,Bacchants straying o'er the plain;Piping, as they roam along,Roundelay or shepherd-song.
Paint me next, if painting maySuch a theme as this pourtray,All the happy heaven of love,These elect of Cupid prove.
Paint me next, if painting maySuch a theme as this pourtray,All the happy heaven of love,These elect of Cupid prove.
ODE XLV.
AS late I sought the spangled bowers,To cull a wreath of matin flowers,Where many an early rose was weeping,I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.I caught the boy, a goblet's tideWas richly mantling by my side,I caught him by his downy wing,And whelm'd him in the racy spring.
AS late I sought the spangled bowers,To cull a wreath of matin flowers,Where many an early rose was weeping,I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.I caught the boy, a goblet's tideWas richly mantling by my side,I caught him by his downy wing,And whelm'd him in the racy spring.
AS late I sought the spangled bowers,To cull a wreath of matin flowers,Where many an early rose was weeping,I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.I caught the boy, a goblet's tideWas richly mantling by my side,I caught him by his downy wing,And whelm'd him in the racy spring.
Oh! then I drank the poison'd bowl,And Love now nestles in my soul!Yes, yes, my soul is Cupid's nest,I feel him fluttering in my breast.
Oh! then I drank the poison'd bowl,And Love now nestles in my soul!Yes, yes, my soul is Cupid's nest,I feel him fluttering in my breast.
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In Ode III, beginning of last line on page 26, the word 'The' is mostly illegible and has been added by comparison with another version of the text.
In Ode III, after the phrase 'my blissful visions fly?', the missing punctuation mark ' has been added.
In Ode VII, after 'rapid race', period has been replaced with comma.
In Ode X, after the phrase 'who murder sleep!' The single quotation mark ' has been deleted.
In Ode XXIII, after the phrase 'wish for liberty', the missing punctuation marks ?' have been added.
There are three words with the [oe] ligature. This is normalised to 'oe' in the text file; in the HTML file the ligature has been retained.
There is one word with the 'ae' ligature; this has been retained in both versions.