Modern Poets and Poetry of Spain/Bacchanalian
BACCHANALIAN.
In chorus we sing, of wine, sweet wine,
Its power benign, and its flavour divine.
Against power so sweet
No guard is secure,
Nor gate, nor yet wall,
Nor will castle endure,
Nor doubtings, nor watchings,
How strict or demure.
With thee the fair maiden
Shows herself fairer,
With thee has the matron
New beauty to glare her;
Ev'n the sad widow
Finds love an ensnarer.
With thee the poor captive,
Though heavy his chains,
Ne'er feels in his feasting
Or torments or pains,
But a place with his lord
As an equal he gains.
With thee the worn seaman
The south wind defies,
While echoes the thunder
He singing replies,
And of winds and the waves
Will the fury despise.
Thou hast power o'er the lip
Of the fool and the sage,
From the breast to root out
Gall, venom and rage,
What rancour and envy
Would hide, to assuage.
With thee will the coward
Of courage make show,
The niggard so vile
Learn bounteous to grow,
And the feeble and old
Fresh vigour to know.
Thy colour so pure
Outrivals the flowers,
Thy odorous essence
The rich myrrh's showers,
The rosemary honey
Thy taste overpowers.
Oblivion thou givest
To troubles and sorrow,
Joys fleeting a show
Of eternal to borrow,
And robb'st of its horrors
The fate of tomorrow.
In chorus we sing, of wine, sweet wine,
Its power benign, and its flavour divine.