An Ode to Bacchus
I.
Let’s sing the glories of the god of wine,
May his immortal praise
Be the eternal object of our song,
And sweetest symphonies; may ev’ry tongue
And throat sonorous, vocal music raise,
And ev’ry grateful instrument combine
To celebrate, great god, thy power divine.
Let other poets to the world relate,
Of Troy, the hard, unhappy fate;
And in immortal song rehearse,
Purpled with streams of blood the Phrygian plain;
The glorious hist’ry of Achilles slain,
And th’ odious memory of Pelop’s sons revive in verse.
II.
God of the grape, thou potent boy,
Thou only object of our cordial vows,
To thee alone I consecrate my heart,
Ready to follow thee in ev’ry part:
Thy influence sweet mirth bestows,
For thee alone I’d live and die in scenes of joy.
Thy bounty all our wishes still prevents;
Thy wond’rous sweetness calms to soft repose
Our wild regrets and restless woes,
And richly ev’ry craving mind contents.
Without thee Venus has no charms;
You constancy to am’rous souls impart,
And hopes bestow to each despairing heart,
III.
But, what involuntary transports roll,
And seize, at once, my agitated soul!
Into what sacred vale! what silent wood!
(I speak not by the vulgar understood,)
Am I, O god! O wond’rous deity!
Ravish’d, brimful of thy divinity and thee!
To my (once infidel) believing eyes
Bacchus unveils entire his sacred mysteries.
Movements confus’d of joy and fear
Hurry me I know not where.
With boldness all divine the god inspires;
With what a pleasing fury am I fill’d!
Such raging fires
Never the Menades in Thracian caves beheld.
IV.
Descend, O mother-queen of love,
Leave a while the realms above;
With your gay presence grace the feast
Of that great god, who bears a boundless sway,
Who conquer’d climates where first rose the day.
Descend, O mother-queen of love,
At rich repasts an ever welcome guest;
But O ——, too long you stay,
Already young Amyntor, brisk and gay,
His lovely Doris o’er the plain pursues:
The sparkling juice at Sylvan nymphs command
Richly distils from their ambrosial hand,
And old Silenus copiously bedews.
V.
Hence, ye profane,
I hate ye all, fly, quit the field,
My ready soul gives way
To those gay movements, this important day
Inspires, so to the conq’ror willing captives yield.
Come, faithful followers of Bacchus’ train,
(Bacchus, most lovely of the gods)
Enter these bless’d abodes.
On high his verdant banners rear,
And quick the festival prepare.
Reach me my lute, a proper air
The chords shall sound; the trembling chords obey,
And join to celebrate this glorious day.
VI.
But ’midst the transports of a pleasing rage
Let’s banish ever hence,
By a blind vapour rais’d, and vain pretence,
Those loud seditious clamours that engage
Only inhuman, brutish souls,
By barb’rous Scythians only understood,
Who cruelly their flowing bowls
At banquets intermix with streams of blood.
Dreadful, preposterous, merriment!
Our hands all gayly innocent,
Ought ne’er in such confusion bear a part,
Polluted with a savage Centaur’s mortal dart.
VII.
From this sweet innocent repast,
(Too exquisite, alas! to last)
Let’s ever banish the rude din of arms,
Frightful Bellona, and her dread alarms.
The dire confusions of pernicious war,
The satyrs, fauns, and Bacchus, all abhor.
Curs’d be those sanguinary mortals, who
Of reeking blood with crimson tides
The sacred mysteries imbrue
Of our great god who over peace presides.
VIII.
But if I must wage war,
If so necessity commands,
Follow, my friends, advance your hands,
Let us commence the pleasing jar.
With wreaths of ivy be our temples bound,
Hark! to arms, to arms, they sound,
Th’ alarm to battle calls,
Lend me your formidable Thyrse, ye Bacchanals.
Double your strokes. Bold——bolder yet,
’Tis done———— How many rivals conquer’d lie?
How many hardy combatants submit?
O son of Jupiter, thy deity,
And sovereign power, we own, and aid divine;
Nothing but heaps of jolly topers slain
I see extended on the plain,
Floating in ruddy streams of reeking wine.
IX.
Io victoria to our king,
To Bacchus songs of triumph let us sing;
His great immortal name
Let us aloud to distant worlds proclaim.
Io victoria to our king,
To Bacchus grateful strains belong;
O! may his glories live in endless song,
The vanquish’d welt’ring on the sand,
One health from us their conqu’ror demand.
Fill me a bumper. Trumpet sound,
Second my voice, loud, louder yet,
Sound our exploits, and their defeat,
Who quiet, undisturb’d, possess the ground.
Io victoria to our king,
To Bacchus, songs of triumph let us sing.
To this great work now finished (God be thanked) I subscribe as usual in the like cases of books, for I love decorum, and have an utter aversion to particularity, prolixity, and circumlocution. I say, to make short, I subscribe as usual, &c. in the like cases, &c. for I love, &c. and have an aversion, &c. the universally famous and most noted name which is subscribed to all books by what name or titles dignified or distinguished: or of what sort, species, size, dimension, or magnitude soever, pamphletary and voluminous; whether they be first or foremost, plays, either comical, tragical, comi-tragical, tragi-comical, or pastoral; godly, or profane songs or ballads; sermons high or low, popish or protestant, dissenting, independent, enthusiastical, Brownistical, heterodox, or orthodox; Philadelphian, Muggletonian, Sacheverelian, or Bangorian, quaking, rhapsodical, prophetical, or nonsensical; legends golden or plain; breviaries, graduals, missals, pontificals, ceremonials, antiphonaries, statutes, spelling-books. Or, secondly and lastly, tracts, treatises, essays; pandects, codes, institutes; primers, rosaries, romances; travels, synods, history books; digests, decretals, lives; commentaries anagogical, allegorical, or tropological; journals, expositions, vocabularies, pilgrimages, manuals, indexes common or expurgatorial; almanacks, bulls, constitutions, or lottery books, viz. i. e. namely, to wit, or, that is to say,
FINIS
Which being interpreted is,
The End