_Ode V._

Buds of roses, virgin flowers, Cull'd from Cupid's balmy bowers, In the bowl of Bacchus steep, Till with crimson drops they weep! Twine the rose, the garland twine, Every leaf distilling wine; Drink and smile, and learn to think That we were born to smile and drink. Rose! thou art the sweetest flower That ever drank the amber shower; Rose! thou art the fondest child Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild! E'en the gods, who walk the sky, Are amorous of thy scented sigh. Cupid too, in Paphian shades, His hair with rosy fillet braids, When with the blushing naked Graces, The wanton winding dance he traces.

Then bring me showers of roses, bring, And shed them round me while I sing: Great Bacchus! in thy hallow'd shade, With some celestial, glowing maid, While gales of roses round me rise, In perfume, sweeten'd by her sighs, I'll bill and twine in airy dance, Commingling soul with every glance!