Andromache, with all her tearful charms,
Folded upon the mighty Hector's breast,
And the babe shrinking in its Nurse's arms,
Affrightened by the nodding of his crest.
The giant Cyclops, sitting in his cave,
Helped by the diving Ulysses, old and wise,
Spilling the wine in rivers down his beard,
Shaggy and grim,—his shoulder overleered
By swart Silenus, sly and cunning knave,
Who steals a puffy skin with twinkling eyes.
Anacreon, lolling in the myrtle shades,
Bibbing his Teian draughts with rich delight,
Pledging the dancing girls and Cyprian maids,
Pinching their little ears, and shoulders white.
A cloudless sunrise on the glittering Nile,
A bronzéd Sphinx, and temple on the shore,
And robéd priests that toss their censers while
Abased in dust, the populace adore;
A beakéd galley fretting at its curb,
With reedy oars, and masts, and silken sails,
And Cleopatra walks the deck superb,
Slow-followed by her court in spangled veils.
The Virgin Mother, and the Holy Child,
Holding a globe and sceptre, sweet and mild;
The Magi bring their gifts with reverent looks,
And the rapt Shepherds lean upon their crooks.
A summer fête, a party on a lawn;
Bowing gallants, with pluméd caps in hand,
And ladies with guitars, and, far withdrawn,
The rustic people dancing in a band.
A bleak defile, a pass in mountains deep,
Whose whitened summits wear their morning glow,
And dark banditti winding down the steep
Of shelvy rocks, pointing their guns below.
A harvest scene, a vineyard on the Rhine;
Arbors, and wreathéd pales, and laughing swains
Pouring their crowded baskets into wains,
And vats, and trodden presses gushing wine.
A Flemish Tavern: boors and burghers hale
Drawn round a table, o'er a board of chess,
Smoking their heavy pipes, and drinking ale,
Blowing from tankard brims the frothiness.