Say, Bacchus, why so placid? What can there be
In commune held by Pallas and by thee?
read more

Say, Bacchus, why so placid? What can there be
In commune held by Pallas and by thee?
Her pleasure is in darts and battles; thine
In joyous feasts and draughts of rosy wine.

Two goddesses now must Cyprus adore;
The Muses are ten, and the Graces are four;
Stella's wit read more

Two goddesses now must Cyprus adore;
The Muses are ten, and the Graces are four;
Stella's wit is so charming, so sweet her fair face,
She shines a new Venus, a Muse, and a Grace.

Shakes his ambroisal curls, and gives the nod,
The stamp of fate, and sanction of the god.

Shakes his ambroisal curls, and gives the nod,
The stamp of fate, and sanction of the god.

Ye immortal gods! where in the world are we?
[Lat., O dii immortales! ubinam gentium sumus?]

Ye immortal gods! where in the world are we?
[Lat., O dii immortales! ubinam gentium sumus?]

War is the father of us all, King of all. Some it makes gods, some it makes men, some it read more

War is the father of us all, King of all. Some it makes gods, some it makes men, some it makes slaves, some free.

The son of Saturn gave
The nod with his dark brows. The ambrosial curls
Upon the Sovereign read more

The son of Saturn gave
The nod with his dark brows. The ambrosial curls
Upon the Sovereign One's immortal head
Were shaken, and with them the mighty mount,
Olympus trembled.

Some thoughtlessly proclaim the Muses nine:
A tenth is Sappho, maid divine.

Some thoughtlessly proclaim the Muses nine:
A tenth is Sappho, maid divine.

The Graces, three erewhile, are three no more;
A fourth is come with perfume sprinkled o'er.
'Tis read more

The Graces, three erewhile, are three no more;
A fourth is come with perfume sprinkled o'er.
'Tis Berenice blest and fair; were she
Away the Graces would no Graces be.

Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below, and gods above!
Beneath the sliding read more

Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below, and gods above!
Beneath the sliding sun thou runn'st thy race,
Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place;
For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear,
Thy mouth reveals the spring, and opens all the year;
Thee, goddess, thee, the storms of winter fly,
Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the sky.