The Chrysolites And Rubies Bacchus Brings

The chrysolites and rubies Bacchus brings
To crown the feast where swells the broad-vein'd brow,
Where maidens blush at what the minstrel sings,
They who have coveted may covet now.

Bring me, in cool alcove, the grape uncrush'd,
The peach of pulpy cheek and down mature,
Where every voice (but bird's or child's) is hush'd,
And every thought, like the brook nigh, runs pure.

Walter Savage Landor

Walter Savage Landor was an English writer, poet, and dramatist. He is best known for his prose work, the 'Imaginary Conversations,' but also wrote numerous poems and plays. Landor had a tempestuous character and often found himself in conflict with authorities and contemporaries. Despite his combative nature, he was highly regarded by other literary figures such as Charles Dickens and Robert Browning. His works reflect his classical education and strong individualism.

Walter Savage Landor

Mother, I Cannot Mind My Wheel

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

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Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

A Thought

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

On Music

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

English

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Overture

Who will away to Athens with me? who
Loves choral songs and maidens crownd with flowers,
Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hoist the sail.
I promise ye, as many as are here,
Ye shall not, while ye tarry with me, taste            
From unrinsd barrel the diluted wine
Of a low vineyard or a plant ill prund,
But such as anciently the Aegean isles
Pourd in libation at their solemn feasts:
And the same goblets shall ye grasp, embossd            
With no vile figures of loose languid boors,
But such as gods have livd with and have led.

Walter Savage Landor

Anacreontic

Why must Poets, when they sing,
Drink of the Castalian spring?
Sure 'tis chilling to the brain;
Witness many a modern strain:
Poets! would ye sing with fire,
Wine, not water, must inspire.
Come, then, pour thy purple stream,
Lovely Bottle! thou'rt my theme.
How within thy crystal frame
Does the rosy nectar flame!
Not so beauteous on the vine
Did the clustering rubies shine,
When the potent God of day
Fill'd them with his ripening ray;
When with proudness and delight
Bacchus view'd the charming sight.
Still it keeps Apollo's fires;
Still the vintage-God admires.
Hail sweet antidote of wo!
Chiefest blessing mortals know!
Nay, the mighty powers divine
Own the magic force of wine.
Wearied with the world's affairs,
Jove himself, t...

Thomas Oldham

Dithyramb. [23]

Believe me, together
The bright gods come ever,
    Still as of old;
Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy,
Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy,
    And Phoebus, the stately, behold!

They come near and nearer,
    The heavenly ones all
The gods with their presence
    Fill earth as their hall!

Say, how shall I welcome,
Human and earthborn,
    Sons of the sky?
Pour out to me pour the full life that ye live!
What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give?

The joys can dwell only
    In Jupiter's palace
Brimmed bright with your nectar,
    Oh, reach me the chalice!

"Hebe, the chalice
Fill full to the brim!
Steep his eyes steep his eyes in the bath of the dew,
Let him dream, while the Styx is concea...

Friedrich Schiller

Bacchus

Bring me wine, but wine which never grew
In the belly of the grape,
Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through,
Under the Andes to the Cape,
Suffer no savor of the earth to scape.

Let its grapes the morn salute
From a nocturnal root,
Which feels the acrid juice
Of Styx and Erebus;
And turns the woe of Night,
By its own craft, to a more rich delight.

We buy ashes for bread;
We buy diluted wine;
Give me of the true,--
Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled
Among the silver hills of heaven
Draw everlasting dew;
Wine of wine,
Blood of the world,
Form of forms, and mould of statures,
That I intoxicated,
And by the draught assimilated,
May float at pleasure through all natures;
The bird-language rightly spell,

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Faesulan Idyl

Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound
Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires;
And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,
Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them,
And softer sighs, that know not what they want;
Under a wall, beneath an orange-tree
Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones
Of sights in Fiesole right up above,
While I was gazing a few paces off
At what they seemed to show me with their nods,
Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,
A gentle maid came down the garden-steps
And gathered the pure treasure in her lap.
I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth
To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat,
(Such I believed it must be); for sweet scents
Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts,
And nurs...

Walter Savage Landor

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 glasses 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 shine;
While all thy rich gifts thus collected we see,
We greet thy munificence boundless, divine.

Thomas Oldham