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 prest
The 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 drew
His 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 touch
Can 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 right
I'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 dews
Their warm, enchanting balm infuse
Our feet shall catch th' elastic bound,
And reel us through the dance's round.
