Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 2

Give me the harp of epic song,
Which Homer’s finger thrilled along;
But tear away the sanguine string,
For war is not the theme I sing.
Proclaim the laws of festal right,[1]
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 the elastic bound,
And reel us through the dance's round.
Great Bacchus! we shall sing to thee,
In wild but sweet ebriety;
Flashing around such sparks of thought,
As Bacchus could alone have taught.

Then, give the harp of epic song,
Which Homer’s finger thrilled along;
But tear away the sanguine string,
For war is not the theme I sing.

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 54
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 46
3. From “Irish Melodies”. 113. Alone in Crowds to Wander On
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 17
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 15

Print

1904 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version