Bacchus poem. Bacchus Poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson 2022-10-23
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Bacchus is a poem by English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson, published in 1849. The poem tells the story of Bacchus, the Roman god of wine and celebration, and his journey through life.
In the beginning of the poem, Bacchus is a carefree and joyful deity, reveling in the pleasures of the world and spreading joy wherever he goes. He is described as "crowned with clusters of the vine," and "purple-robed," symbols of his association with wine and celebration.
However, as Bacchus grows older, he becomes more jaded and disillusioned. He begins to see the dark side of humanity, and the destructive power of his own gifts. He witnesses the violence and debauchery that can result from the overindulgence in wine, and becomes bitter and cynical as a result.
Despite this, Bacchus does not lose his love for celebration and enjoyment. He recognizes that his gifts can bring both joy and pain, and he decides to use his powers to bring happiness and light to the world, rather than destruction.
The poem ends with Bacchus returning to his former carefree and joyful self, rejoicing in the simple pleasures of life and spreading happiness wherever he goes.
Overall, Bacchus is a poignant reflection on the duality of life, and the power of both pleasure and pain. It reminds us that, no matter how difficult life may seem at times, there is always the possibility for joy and celebration, if we are willing to embrace it.
Bacchus
Claudius, though he sang of flagonsAnd huge tankards filled with Rhenish,From that fiery blood of dragonsNever would his own replenish. Thus he won, through all the nations,Bloodless victories, and the farmerBore, as trophies and oblations. Golden lanterns are lit with flames flickering on hobnail glass in patchwork rays of illumination. Wine that is shed Like the torrents of the Up the horizon walls; Or like the Atlantic streams which run When the South Food which needs no transmuting, Wine which is already man, Food which teach and reason can. In paintings, Bacchus was the one who was eating grapes from the bunch while surrounded by satyrs. Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side, I sat a-weeping: what enamour'd bride, Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds, But hides and shrouds Beneath dark palm-trees by a river side? Furthermore I shall enumerate some varieties of tulips Bacchus, Tantalus, Dardanelles and other flowerswith names that have a life of their own Love Lies Bleeding,Dwarf Blue Bedding, Burning Bush, Torch Lily, Narcissus.
. Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast: I thought to leave thee, And deceive thee, But now of all the world I love thee best. And I forgot thee, as the berried holly By shepherds is forgotten, when in June Tall chestnuts keep away the sun and moon:-- I rush'd into the folly! Young blood and high blood,Fair cheeks, and fine bodies;fortitude as never before frankness as never before,disillusions as never told in the old days,hysterias, trench confessions,laughter out of dead bellies. Ah, they keep me in my cloister drear,Well nigh feel I vanquish'd by my shame. Through our father's oath:With Heav'ns blessing will our love be crown'd. Mother Cybele yokes to the pole of her chariot the lions,And through the wide-open door comes as a citizen in.
From his prayer she shrinks,Till at length he sinksOn the bed and weeps without control. Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips? The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills From kissing cymbals made a merry din-- 'Twas Bacchus and his kin! I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing To the silver cymbals' ring! О Вакх божественный, о юный Фионей, О Дионис, Эван, Иакхус и Леней! Come over the seaFrom Sicily and from Arcady! Son and daughter, theyHad been wont to sayShould thereafter bride and bridegroom be. Dowson found harlots cheaper than hotels;Headlam for uplift; Image impartially imbuedWith raptures for Bacchus, Terpsichore and the Church. I thank the joyful juice For all I know;-- Winds of remembering Of the ancient being blow, And seeming-solid walls of use Open and flow. Like to a moving vintage down they came, Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame; All madly dancing through the pleasant valley, To scare thee, Melancholy! They way I figure, you start with the nameswhich are keys and then you throw them awayand learn to love the locked rooms, with or withoutcorpses inside, riddles to unravel, emptiness to possess,a woman to wake up with a kiss who is she? Wine which Music is, Music and wine are one, That I, drinking this, Shall hear far Chaos talk with me; Kings unborn shall walk with me; And the poor grass shall plot and plan What it will do when it is man. The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills From kissing cymbals made a merry din¡ª 'Twas Bacchus and his kin! Why have ye left your bowers desolate, 75 Your lutes, and gentler fate? Wine and food are brought,Ere by him besought;Bidding him good night.
We buy ashes for bread; We buy diluted wine; Give me of the true,-- Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled Among the silver hills of heaven Draw everlasting dew; Wine of wine, Blood of the world, Form of forms, and mold of statures, That I intoxicated, And by the draught assimilated, May float at pleasure through all natures; The bird-language rightly spell, And that which roses say so well. For two hours he talked of Gallifet;Of Dowson; of the Rhymers' Club;Told me how Johnson Lionel diedBy falling from a high stool in a pub. His father, LouisChénier, a native of Lan. Now to rivulets from the mountainsPoint the rods of fortune-tellers;Youth perpetual dwells in fountains,--Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars. O then, O then, thou wast a simple name! From the warm couch am I chased away? And as I sat, over the light blue hills There came a noise of revellers: the rills Into the wide stream came of purple hue-- 'Twas Bacchus and his crew! To Sorrow I bade good morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; 30 But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind: I would deceive her And so leave her, 35 But ah! There is not one, No, no, not one But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid; Thou art her mother, And her brother, Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade. Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall, 255 And Hymen also crowne with wreathes of vine; And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, For they can doo it best: The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing, To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring.
And as I sat, over the light blue hills There came a noise of revellers: the rills Into the wide stream came of purple hue¡ª 50 'Twas Bacchus and his crew! Verog, out of step with the decade,Detached from his contemporaries,Neglected by the young,Because of these reveries. I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce Old Tartary the fierce! Vine for vine be antidote, And the grape requite the lote! Tones of joy and sadness,And love's blissful madness,As of bride and bridegroom they appear,From the door she will not now remove'Till she gains full certainty of this;And with anger hears she vows of love,Soft caressing words of mutual bliss. Round about him, fair Bacchantes,Bearing cymbals, flutes, and thyrses,Wild from Naxian groves, or Zante'sVineyards, sing delirious verses. Viens, ô divin Bacchus, ô jeune Thyonée, O Dionyse, Évan, Viens, tel que tu Quand tu vins Le Avait de ses débris formé ton char d'ivoire. O Dionyse, Evan, Iacchus and Leneus; Come, as you appeared to the deserts of Naxos When you came to reassure the daughter of Minos. . The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrillsFrom kissing cymbals made a merry din-- 'Twas Bacchus and his kin! L'or reluisait partout aux axes de tes chars.
All men, in law, are equals. French poet, was born at Constantinople on the 30th of October 1762. Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May? Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pardsAnd nymphs and styrs for thy guards,On a milk-white ass, come over the seaTo me, to me,Coem with Apollo in bridal dress Spheperdess and pythoness Come with Artemis, silken shod,And wash thy white thigh, beautiful God,In the moon, of the woods, on the marble mount,The dimpled dawn of of the amber fount! Mannikin, maiden, maenad, man,In the might of Pan. I'll return as swiftly as I came. I, who wait and writhe and wrestleWith air that hath no boughs to nestleMy body, weary of empty clasp,Strong as a lion, and sharp as an asp-Come, O come! Why dost borrow Heart's lightness from the merriment of May? To Sorrow I bade good morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind: I would deceive her And so leave her, But ah! Why dost borrow The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue? Daring as never before, wastage as never before. And as I sat, over the light blue hills There came a noise of revellers: the rills Into the wide stream came of purple hue-- 'Twas Bacchus and his crew! I am borneTo death on the hornOf the Unicorn. Once you sniffthe aphrodisiac of disaster, you know: there's no reasonfor the anxiety--or for expecting to be free of it;try telling Franz Kafka he has no reason to feel guilty;or so I say to well-meaning mongers of common sense.
Bring me wine, but wine which In the belly of the grape, Or grew on vine whose taproots reaching through Under the Andes to the Cape, Suffered no savor of the world to 'scape. They are Christians and have been baptized,He and all of his are heathens yet. . It was a rough lifestyle we lived. . The thin, clear gaze, the sameStill darts out faun-like from the half-ruin'd face,Questing and passive.
Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood, Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood, With sidelong laughing; And little rills of crimson wine imbrued His plump white arms and shoulders, enough white For Venus' pearly bite; And near him rode Silenus on his ass, Pelted with flowers as he on did pass Tipsily quaffing. Why dost borrow The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue? Why dost borrow The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye? Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow;Ivy crowns that brow supernalAs the forehead of Apollo,And possessing youth eternal. Why dost borrow The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue? Victims slay they here,Neither lamb nor steer,But the altars reek with human gore. Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left 85 Your nuts in oak-tree cleft? Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood, Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood, 65 With sidelong laughing; And little rills of crimson wine imbrued His plump white arms and shoulders, enough white For Venus' pearly bite; And near him rode Silenus on his ass, 70 Pelted with flowers as he on did pass Tipsily quaffing. Vine for vine be antidote, And the grape requite the lote! I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown Before the vine-wreath crown! Quickened so, will I unlock Every crypt of every rock. And I rave; and I rape and I rip and I rendEverlasting, world without end.
Refresh the faded tints, Recut the aged prints, And Which, on the first day, drew Upon the tablets The dancing Pleiads, and the eternal men. Thou art pale with fear! Явись, как прежде, из пустынного Наксоса, Когда ты шел утешить дочь Миноса. Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side, I sat a-weeping: in the whole world wide There was no one to ask me why I wept,¡ª And so I kept 40 Brimming the water-lily cups with tears Cold as my fears. Grey thoult be to-morrow,Only to grow brown again when there. Into these regions came I, following him, Sick-hearted, weary¡ªso I took a whim To stray away into these forests drear, 125 Alone, without a peer: And I have told thee all thou mayest hear. Let its grapes the morn salute From a nocturnal root Which feels the acrid juice Of Styx and Erebus, And turns the woe of By its own craft, to a more rich delight. .
