Thomas Moore ( )


From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 15


Tell me, why, my sweetest dove,
Thus your humid pinions move,
Shedding through the air in showers
Essence of the balmiest flowers?
Tell me whither, whence you rove,
Tell me, all, my sweetest dove.
            Curious stranger, I belong
To the bard of Teian song;
With his mandate now I fly
To the nymph of azure eye; 
She, whose eye has maddend many,
But the poet more than any.
Venus, for a hymn of love,
Warbled in her votive grove,
(twas in sooth a gentle lay,)
Gave me to the bard away.
See me now his faithful minion, 
Thus with softly-gliding pinion,
To his lovely girl I bear
Songs of passion through the air.
Oft he blandly whispers me
Soon, my bird, Ill set you free;
But in vain hell bid me fly,
I shall serve him till I die.
Never could my plumes sustain
Ruffling winds and chilling rain,
Oer the plains, or in the dell,
On the mountains savage swell,
Seeking in the desert wood
Gloomy shelter, rustic food.
Now I lead a life of ease,
Far from rugged haunts like these.
From Anacreons hand I eat
Food delicious, viands sweet;
Flutter oer his goblets brim,
Sip the foamy wine with him.
Then, when I have wantond round
To his lyres beguiling sound;
Or with gently-moving wings
Fannd the minstrel while he sings:
On his harp I sink in slumbers,
Dreaming still of dulcet numbers!
            This is all  away  away
You have made me waste the day.
How Ive chatterd! prating crow
Never yet did chatter so.



Thomas Moore's other poems:
  1. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 51
  2. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 40
  3. From The Odes of Anacreon. Ode 72
  4. From Irish Melodies. 114. Ive a Secret to Tell Thee
  5. From Irish Melodies. 76. In the Morning of Life


 . Poem to print (Poem to print)

: 878



To English version


@Mail.ru

. eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru