@3Gentleman@1 He's coming through this street, Orazio, wrapt, like Bacchus, in the hide Of a specked panther, with his dancing nymphs, And torches bright and many, as his slaves Had gathered up the fragments of the sun That fell just now. Hark! here his music comes. @3Enter@1 ORAZIO, @3between@1 ARMIDA @3and@1 ROSAURA, @3attended@1. @3Orazio@1 Thrice to the moon, and thrice unto the sun, And thrice unto the lesser stars of night, From tower and hill, by trump and cannon's voice, Have I proclaimed myself a deity's son: Not Alexander's father, Ammon old, But ivied Bacchus, do I call my sire. Hymn it once more. @3Song@1 Strew not earth with empty stars, Strew it not with roses, Nor feathers from the crest of Mars, Nor summer's idle posies. 'Tis not the primrose-sandalled moon, Nor cold and silent morn, Nor he that climbs the dusty noon, Nor mower war with scythe that drops, Stuck with helmed and turbaned tops Of enemies new shorn. Ye cups, ye lyres, ye trumpets know, Pour your music, let it flow, 'Tis Bacchus' son who walks below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHT PIECE (2) by EDITH SITWELL MAKING THE BED by KAREN SWENSON THE ITINERANT POET'S ROAD SONG by KAREN SWENSON TO HIS WIFE ON THE 16TH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING DAY, WITH A RING by SAMUEL BISHOP |