BACCH US: OR, TH E VINES OF LESB OS. As S Bacchus ranging at his leifure, (Io Bacchus! king of pleasure) Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances, And all his thousand airy fancies; Alas! he quite forgot the while His fav'rite vines in Lefbos ifle.* The God returning ere they died, So chear'd, with more officious hafte The loads they wheel, the roots they bare, They lay the rich manure with care, And names as oft the red reward. The plants revive, new leaves appear, The grapes hung dangling deep with blue. Now calls them all to work again; To load their flaskets with the fruit; 4 And now the vintage early trod, The wines invite the jovial God, The Fawns befide the vatts remain To fhew the work, and reap the gain. All around, and all around They fit to riot on the ground, A veffel ftands amidst the ring, And here they laugh, and there they fing; Or rife a jolly jolly band, And dance about it hand in hand; Dance about, and fhout amain, Then fit to laugh and fing again. But, as an ancient author fung, The vine manur'd with ev'ry dung, From ev'ry creature ftrangely drew, of brutal nature too; A tang 'Twas hence in drinking on the lawns This wounds a friend, and that the trees; Thefe take the Monkey-turn of mind. Here one who faw the nymphs that stood To peep upon them from the wood, Be lagging late beneath the fhade; Such as these the Goat retain. Another drinks and cafts it up, And drinks and wants another cup2 Solemn, filent, and fedate, Ever long and ever late, Full of meats and full of wine; 7 1 1 This takes his temper from the fwine. Here fome who hardly feem to breathe, Drink and hang the jaw beneath, Gaping, tender, apt to weep; Their natures alter'd by the sheep. 'Twas thus one autumn all the crew (If what the Poets fing be true) While Bacchus made the merry feaft Inclin'd to one or other beast; And fince 'tis faid for many a mile ཀནྟྭཱ ཏམ ELYSIU M. I' N airy fields, the fields of blifs below, Where woods of myrtle fet by Maro grow; Where grafs beneath, and shade diffus'd above, Refresh the fever of distracted love: There at a folemn tide, the beauties flain They range the reeds, and o'er the poppies fweep, And rivers gliding with a filent pace, Where kings and fwains, by antient authors fung, Fades at the brink, his picture fades below; In crimson painted young Adonis glows; |