Wherein shall be found excerpta from Greek, Latin, Italian,
French, Spanish, German, and sundry other Poets that have devotedly writ of Woman, making a Fragrant Garland of Rare and Diversified Blossoms.
FROM THE GREEK OF ANACREON.
HOU, whose soft and rosy hues
Mimic form and soul infuse;
Best of painters! come, portray
The lovely maid that's far away.
Far away, my soul, thou art,
But I've thy beauties all by heart.
Paint her jetty ringlets straying,
Silky twine in tendrils playing;
And, if painting hath the skill
To make the spicy balm distill,
Let every little lock exhale
A sigh of perfume on the gale.
Where her tresses' curly flow
Darkles o'er the brow of snow,
Let her forehead beam to light,
Burnished as the ivory bright.
Let her eyebrows sweetly rise
In jetty arches o'er her eyes,
Gently in a crescent gliding,
Just commingling, just dividing.
But hast thou any sparkles warm
The lightning of her eyes to form?
Let them effuse the azure ray
With which Minerva's glances play,
And give them all that liquid fire
That Venus' languid eyes respire.
O'er her nose and cheek be shed
Flushing white and mellowed red;
Gradual tints, as when there glows
In snowy milk the bashful rose.
Then her lips, so rich in blisses!
Sweet petitioner for kisses!
Then beneath her velvet chin,
Whose dimple shades a love within,
A charm may peep, a hue may beam,
And leave the rest to fancy's dream.
Enough 'tis she; 'tis all I seek;
It glows, it lives, it soon will speak!
Translation of Thomas Moore.
FROM THE GREEK OF THEOCRITUS.
IKE as the rising morning shows a grateful lightening,
When sacred night is past and winter now lets loose the spring,
So glittering Helen shined among the maids, lusty and tall.
As is the furrow in a field that far outstretcheth all,
Or in a garden is a cypress-tree, or in a trace
A steed of Thessaly, so she to Sparta was a grace.
No damsel with such works as she her baskets used to fill,
Nor in a diverse colored web a woof of greater skill
Doth cut from off the loom : nor any hath such songs and lays
Unto her dainty harp, in Dian's and Minerva's praise,
As Helen hath, in whose bright eyes all Loves and Graces be.
O fair, O lovely maid, a matron now is made of thee;
But we will every spring unto the leaves in meadows go
To gather garlands sweet, and there, not with a little woe,
Will often think of thee, O Helen, as the sucking lambs
Desire the strouting bags and presence of their tender dams,
We all betimes for thee a wreath of melitoe will knit,
And on a shady plane for thee will safely fasten it.
And all betimes for thee, under a shady plane below,
Out of a silver box the sweetest ointment will bestow;
And letters shall be written in the bark, that men may see
And read, Do humble reverence, for I am Helen's tree.
Translation of Sir Edward Dyer.
FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY.
INGLETS, that with clustering shade
The snow-white brows of Demo braid;
Sandals, that with strict embrace
Heliodora's ankles grace;
Portal of Timarion's bower,
Besprent with many a fragrant shower;
Lovely smiles that lurking lie
In Anticleia's sun-bright eye;
Roses, fresh, in earliest bloom,
That Dorothea's breast perfume-
No more Love's golden quivers hold
Their feathered arrows, as of old;
But every sharp and wingèd dart
Has found a quiver in my heart.
Translation of J. H. Merivale.
'HE Graces smiling saw her opening charms,
And claspt Aristo in her lovely arms.
Hence her resistless beauty, matchless sense;
The music of her voice; the eloquence,
That e'en in silence flashes from her face,
All strikes the ravished heart; for all its grace.
List to my vows, sweet maid; or from my view
Far, far away remove. In vain I sue.
For, as no space can check the bolts of Jove,
No distance shields me from the shafts of Love.
ILL high the goblet; fill it up;
With Lesbia's name divine
Thrice uttered crown the sparkling cup,
And sweeten all the wine.
Tie round my brows the rosy wreath,
Which yesterday we wove
With flowers that yet of odors breathe,
In memory of my love.
See how yon rose in tears is drest,
Her lovely form to see
No longer folded on my breast,
As it was wont to be.
Translation of J. H. Merivale.
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