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.
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And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
read more
And that dismal cry rose slowly
And sank slowly through the air,
Full of spirit's melancholy
And eternity's despair!
And they heart the words it said--
Pan is dead! great Pan is dead!
Pan, Pan is dead!
Never, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone.
Never, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone.
And when they heard these sayings, they were full of wrath, and
cried out, saying, Great is Diana of read more
And when they heard these sayings, they were full of wrath, and
cried out, saying, Great is Diana of the Ephesians.
Nature's self's thy Ganymede.
Nature's self's thy Ganymede.
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.
I, Phoebus, sang those songs that gained so much renown
I, Phoebus, sang them; Homer only wrote them down.
I, Phoebus, sang those songs that gained so much renown
I, Phoebus, sang them; Homer only wrote them down.
The confounding of all right and wrong, in wild fury, has averted
from us the gracious favor of the read more
The confounding of all right and wrong, in wild fury, has averted
from us the gracious favor of the gods.
[Lat., Omnia fanda, nefanda, malo permista furore,
Justificam nobis mentem avertere deorum.]
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.
