Imagini ale paginilor




Το ροδον το των ερωτων.

The rose, the flower of love,

Mingle with our quaffing; The rose, the lovely-leav'd, Round our brows be weav'd,

Genially laughing.

O the rose, the first of flowers, Darling of the early bowers,

Ev'n the gods for thee have places; Thee too Cytherea's boy Weaves about his locks for joy,

Dancing with the Graces.

Crown me then ; I'll play the lyre,

Bacchus, underneath thy shade: Heap me, heap me higher and higher, And I'll lead a dance of fire

With a dark deep-bosom'd maid.


Στεφανους μεν κροταφοισι.

Often fit we round our brows, One and all, the rosy boughs, And with genial laughs carouse.

To the twinkling of the lute Trips a girl with delicate foot, Bearing a green ivy stick Rustling with it's tresses thick; While a boy of earnest air, With a gentle head of hair,

« ÎnapoiContinuă »