To Phidyle.

(HOR. III., 23.)


Incense, and flesh of swine, and this year's grain,
At the new moon, with suppliant hands, bestow,
O rustic Phidyle! So naught shall know
Thy crops of blight, thy vine of Afric bane,
And hale the nurslings of thy flock remain
Through the sick apple-tide. Fit victims grow
'Twixt holm and oak upon the Algid snow,
Or Alban grass, that with their necks must stain
The Pontiff's axe: to thee can scarce avail
Thy modest gods with much slain to assail,
Whom myrtle crowns and rosemary can please.
Lay on the altar a hand pure of fault;
More than rich gifts the Powers it shall appease,
Though pious but with meal and crackling salt.

Henry Austin Dobson

Henry Austin Dobson, commonly known as Austin Dobson, was an English poet and essayist. A civil servant by profession, Dobson was one of the most renowned poets and literary critics of the late Victorian and Edwardian periods. His work is noted for its delicate craftsmanship and profound interest in 18th-century literature. Dobson's poetry often revisited and celebrated historical themes and characters, blending scholarly interest with lyrical form.

Henry Austin Dobson

The Last Proof

Henry Austin Dobson, Simple Poetry

The Water Of Gold.

Henry Austin Dobson, Simple Poetry

The 'Squire At Vauxhall.

Henry Austin Dobson, Simple Poetry

A Familiar Epistle

Henry Austin Dobson, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Odes From Horace. - To Phidyle. Exhorting Her To Be Content With A Frugal Sacrifice. Book The Third, Ode The Twenty-Third.

My Phidyle, retir'd in shady wild,
    If thou thy virgin hands shalt suppliant raise,
If primal fruits are on thy altars pil'd,
    And incense pure thy duteous care conveys,
To sooth the LARES, when the moon adorns,
With their first modest light, her taper horns;

And if we pierce the throat of infant swine,
    A frugal victim, not the baleful breath
Of the moist South shall blast our tender vine;
    Nor shall the lambs sink in untimely death
When the unwholesome gales of Autumn blow,
And shake the ripe fruit from the bending bough.

Let snowy Algidum's wide vallies feed,
    Beneath their stately holme, and spreading oak,
Or the rich herbage of Albania's mead,
    The Steer, whose blood on lofty Shrines shall smoke!
Red may it stain the P...

Anna Seward

At Eleusis

Men of Eleusis, ye that with long staves
Sit in the market-houses, and speak words
Made sweet with wisdom as the rare wine is
Thickened with honey; and ye sons of these
Who in the glad thick streets go up and down
For pastime or grave traffic or mere chance;
And all fair women having rings of gold
On hands or hair; and chiefest over these
I name you, daughters of this man the king,
Who dipping deep smooth pitchers of pure brass
Under the bubbled wells, till each round lip
Stooped with loose gurgle of waters incoming,
Found me an old sick woman, lamed and lean,
Beside a growth of builded olive-boughs
Whence multiplied thick song of thick-plumed throats
Also wet tears filled up my hollow hands
By reason of my crying into them
And pitied me; for as cold wate...

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Artemis Prologuizes

I am a Goddess of the ambrosial courts,
And save by Here, Queen of Pride, surpassed
By none whose temples whiten this the world.
Thro Heaven I roll my lucid moon along;
I shed in Hell oer my pale people peace;
On Earth, I, caring for the creatures, guard
Each pregnant yellow wolf and fox-bitch sleek.
And every feathered mothers callow brood,
And all that love green haunts and loneliness.
Of men, the chaste adore me, hanging crowns
Of poppies red to blackness, bell and stem,
Upon my image at Athenai here;
And this dead Youth, Asclepios bends above,
Was dearest to me. He my buskined step
To follow thro the wild-wood leafy ways,
And chase the panting stag, or swift with darts
Stop the swift ounce, or lay the leopard low,
Neglected homage to another God:<...

Robert Browning

The Second Hymn Of Callimachus. To Apollo

Hah! how the laurel, great Apollo's tree,
And all the cavern shakes! Far off, far off,
The man that is unhallow'd: for the god,
The god approaches. Hark! he knocks; the gates
Feel the glad impulse, and the sever'd bars
Submissive clink against their brazen portals.
Why do the Delian palms incline their boughs,
Self-moved, and hovering swans, their throats released
From native silence, carol sounds harmonious?

Begin young men the hymn: let all your harps
Break their inglorious silence, and the dance,
In mystic numbers trod, explain the music,
But first by ardent prayer and clear lustration
Purge the contagious spots of human weakness:
Impure no mortal can behold Apollo.
So may ye flourish favour'd by the god,
In youth with happy nuptials, and in age
...

Matthew Prior

The Sacrifice To Apollo

Priests of APOLLO, sacred be the Roome,
For this learn'd Meeting: Let no barbarous Groome,
    How braue soe'r he bee,
    Attempt to enter;
    But of the Muses free,
    None here may venter;
This for the Delphian Prophets is prepar'd:
The prophane Vulgar are from hence debar'd.

And since the Feast so happily begins,
Call vp those faire Nine, with their Violins;
    They are begot by IOVE,
    Then let vs place them,
    Where no Clowne in may shoue,
    That may disgrace them:
But let them neere to young APOLLO sit;
So shall his Foot-pace ouer-flow with Wit.

Where be the Graces, where be those fayre Three?
In any hand they may not absent bee:
    They to the Gods are deare,
    And they can humbly
    Teach vs, our Selues to ...

Michael Drayton

The Sacrifice, By Way Of Discourse Betwixt Himself And Julia.

Herr. Come and let's in solemn wise
        Both address to sacrifice:
        Old religion first commands
        That we wash our hearts, and hands.
        Is the beast exempt from stain,
        Altar clean, no fire profane?
        Are the garlands, is the nard
        Ready here?

Jul.    All well prepar'd,
        With the wine that must be shed,
        'Twixt the horns, upon the head
        Of the holy beast we bring
        For our trespass-offering.

Herr. All is well; now next to these
        Put we on pure surplices;
        And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roast
        With perfumes the holocaust:
        And, while we the gods invoke,
        Read acceptance by the smoke.

Robert Herrick