The Wine of Cyprus
Le vin de Chypre
Wine of Cyprus! how my fancy thou dost steep in youthful dew,
Bringing back the little rosy god with bandaged eyes anew:
Jove, and Mars, and Venus, Juno, and Minerva I behold,
Whom my creed refused to recognize as deities of old
Ah! if writers in our midst have been all Pagan in their books,
So that I the worship have abused, that now so pleasant looks,
'T was because they were not drunken with this wine that maketh wise —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Yes, to Grecian worship, as it once was in our classes taught,
I'm returning — such a mighty change has Bacchus in me wrought,
O ye Muses, O ye Graces, dance around me as I sing;
Smile, O Phaebus; and caress me, O ye Zephyrs on the wing!
Come, ye Fauns and Sylvan deities, Bacchantes, Dryads, come;
Form a chorus all about me; let me hear its joyous hum:
But on Naiads in my cellar, nay, I would not set my eyes —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Thank the bottle water-proofed with tar to keep its flavor prime,
I can fancy that I'm sailing to the altars of old Time —
Altars where to Beauty's self, bedecked with myrtle for a crown,
Under skies of purest azure, ravished mortals bowed them down
We the children of a northern clime where angry tempests roar,
Let us picture to ourselves the charm of that delicious shore:
Men may well have taken pleasure in the peopling of such skies —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Nose in air, good father Hesiod once was making it his aim
His divinities to christen, each with mighty-sounding name;
But he found invention flagging, and he thought he'd turn an ode,
When from Cyprus came a swelling skin of wine to his abode
Tipsy gets my Greek upon it, and on Pegasus would climb,
Flushed with nectar, that is famous for awakening the sublime:
Full the skin was, I have told you; an Olympus it supplies —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
We — to fabulous divinities, the relics of old days —
Devils — little tempting I must own — in opposition raise:
Troops of witches, ghouls, and wizards, flights of vampires and the rest,
Pastimes, loveable and lovely, that the Middle Ages blest
Out on spirits of the damned! and out on ghosts and burial ground!
Out on all that's horrible — there is contagion in the sound!
Bats, avaunt! give up to gentle doves your places, I advise, —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Homer, Æschylus, Menander, and Anacreon, herein
Deeply drank, and from it found their immortality begin:
Ah! then, pour it out for me, that so my own ephemeral lyre
With the melody it makes, perchance, the future may inspire
Never, never! But, conducting down the troop that waits on Love,
Hebe quits for me, a moment, her own proper sphere above:
Smiling on me, she, the bearer of the cup, her office plies —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Wine of Cyprus! how my fancy thou dost steep in youthful dew,
Bringing back the little rosy god with bandaged eyes anew:
Jove, and Mars, and Venus, Juno, and Minerva I behold,
Whom my creed refused to recognize as deities of old
Ah! if writers in our midst have been all Pagan in their books,
So that I the worship have abused, that now so pleasant looks,
'T was because they were not drunken with this wine that maketh wise —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Yes, to Grecian worship, as it once was in our classes taught,
I'm returning — such a mighty change has Bacchus in me wrought,
O ye Muses, O ye Graces, dance around me as I sing;
Smile, O Phaebus; and caress me, O ye Zephyrs on the wing!
Come, ye Fauns and Sylvan deities, Bacchantes, Dryads, come;
Form a chorus all about me; let me hear its joyous hum:
But on Naiads in my cellar, nay, I would not set my eyes —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Thank the bottle water-proofed with tar to keep its flavor prime,
I can fancy that I'm sailing to the altars of old Time —
Altars where to Beauty's self, bedecked with myrtle for a crown,
Under skies of purest azure, ravished mortals bowed them down
We the children of a northern clime where angry tempests roar,
Let us picture to ourselves the charm of that delicious shore:
Men may well have taken pleasure in the peopling of such skies —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Nose in air, good father Hesiod once was making it his aim
His divinities to christen, each with mighty-sounding name;
But he found invention flagging, and he thought he'd turn an ode,
When from Cyprus came a swelling skin of wine to his abode
Tipsy gets my Greek upon it, and on Pegasus would climb,
Flushed with nectar, that is famous for awakening the sublime:
Full the skin was, I have told you; an Olympus it supplies —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
We — to fabulous divinities, the relics of old days —
Devils — little tempting I must own — in opposition raise:
Troops of witches, ghouls, and wizards, flights of vampires and the rest,
Pastimes, loveable and lovely, that the Middle Ages blest
Out on spirits of the damned! and out on ghosts and burial ground!
Out on all that's horrible — there is contagion in the sound!
Bats, avaunt! give up to gentle doves your places, I advise, —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
Homer, Æschylus, Menander, and Anacreon, herein
Deeply drank, and from it found their immortality begin:
Ah! then, pour it out for me, that so my own ephemeral lyre
With the melody it makes, perchance, the future may inspire
Never, never! But, conducting down the troop that waits on Love,
Hebe quits for me, a moment, her own proper sphere above:
Smiling on me, she, the bearer of the cup, her office plies —
'T was the goodly wine of Cyprus that to gods of eld gave rise.
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