Callimachus Poems

What force, what sudden impulse thus can make
The laurel-branch, and all the temple shake!
Depart ye souls profane; hence, hence! O fly
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Whilst we to Jove immortal and divine,
Perform the rites, and pour the ruddy wine;
What shall the Muse, with sacred rapture sing,
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If sober, and inclin'd to sport,
To you, my fair one, I resort;
The still-forbidden bliss to prove,
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Come forth, come forth, ye virgins, and prepare
The bath for Pallas with assiduous care:
The Goddess comes; from yon' ætherial meads
I hear the snorting of her fiery steeds.
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Fond Callignotus sigh'd and swore,
'Tis Violante I adore,
The brightest beauty on the plain,
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Not on the land could Lycus die,
Nor in his native Naxos lie,
But on the main by tempest tost,
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This morning we beheld with streaming eyes
The flames from Melanippus' body rise;
At eve, fair Basile resign'd her breath,
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By mighty Pan and Bacchus' greater name,
Beneath these embers lurks a spreading flame.
Embrace me not; tho' streams in silence fall,
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Had never vessel cross'd the main,
Our present grief had been in vain;
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Whoe'er with hallow'd feet approaches near,
Behold, Callimachus lies buried here,
I drew my breath from fam'd Cyrene's shore,
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