Poem by Thomas Moore

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 12

They tell how Atys, wild with love,
Roams the mount and haunted grove;
Cvbele's name he howls around,
The gloomy blast returns the sound!
Oft too, by Claros' hallowed spring,
The votaries of the laurelled king
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream,
And rave in wild, prophetic dream.
But frenzied dreams are not for me,
Great Bacchus is my deity!
Full of mirth, and full of him,
While floating odors round me swim,
While mantling bowls are full supplied,
And you sit blushing by my side,
I will be mad and raving too--
Mad, my girl, with love for you!

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 48
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 3
3. From “Irish Melodies”. 57. Oh! Had We Some Bright Little Isle of Our Own
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 50
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 70

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