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Plays the many-mouthed pipe,
Rich with voices breathing ripe.

Love himself the golden-tressed,
Bacchus blithe, and Venus blessed,
Come from heaven to join our cheer,
So completely does appear
Comus, youth's restorer, here.

THE DANCE.

“Οτ' εγω νεοις ομιλBν.

When a set of youths I see,

Youth itself returns to me.

Then, ah then, my old age springs
To the dance on starting wings.
Stop, Cybeba ;-roses there
To adorn a dancer's hair,-
Grey-beard age away be flung,
And I'll join ye, young for young.
Some one then go fetch me wine
Of a vintage rare and fine,
And I'll shew what age can do,-

Able still to warble too,

Able still to drink down sadness,

And display a graceful madness.

THE SEAT UNDER THE TREE.

Παρα την σκιην Βαθυλλε.

Here's the place to seat us, love!
A perfect arbour! Look above,
How the delicate sprays, like hair,
Bend them to the breaths of air !

Listen, too! It is a rill,

Telling us it's gentle will.
Who that knows what luxury is,
Could go by a place like this?

CATULLUS.

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