Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 31

Arm’d with hyacinthine rod,
(Arms enough for such a god,)
Cupid bade me wing my pace,
And try with him the rapid race.
O’er many a torrent, wild and deep,
By tangled brake and pendent steep,
With weary foot I panting flew,
Till my brow dropp’d with chilly dew.
And now my soul, exhausted, dying,
To my lip was faintly flying;
And now I thought the spark had fled,
When Cupid hover’d o’er my head,
And fanning light his breezy pinion,
Rescued my soul from death’s dominion;
Then said, in accents half-reproving,
„Why hast thou been a foe to loving?”

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 74
2. From “Irish Melodies”. 24. Sublime Was the Warning
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 50
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 48
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 35

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