From the Greek by Henry Hart Milman
From “The Bacchæ”
ON the mountains wild ’t is sweet,
When faint with rapid dance our feet,
Our limbs on earth all careless thrown
With the sacred fawn-skins strown,
To quaff the goat’s delicious blood,
A strange, a rich, a savage food.
Then off again...
-
-
From the Greek by Robert Bland
ALL hail, Remembrance and Forgetfulness!
Trace, Memory, trace whate’er is sweet or kind:
When friends forsake us or misfortunes press,
Oblivion, ’rase the record from our mind. -
From the Welsh by Thomas Oliphant
WHERE are the men who went forth in the morning,
Hope brightly beaming in every face?
Fearing no danger,—the Saxon foe scorning,—
Little thought they of defeat or disgrace!
Fallen is their chieftain—his glory departed—
Fallen are the heroes who fought by his side!
Fatherless children now weep, broken...