Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE FIRST 3. Chapter III (continued)

     For there, when the sun has gone down in night,
         There in the bowl we find him.
       The grape is the well of that summer sun,
       Or rather the stream that he gazed upon,
       Till he left in truth, like the Thespian youth,
           His soul, as he gazed, behind him.

                    III

      A cup to Jove, and a cup to Love,
        And a cup to the son of Maia;
       And honour with three, the band zone-free,
        The band of the bright Aglaia.
       But since every bud in the wreath of pleasure
        Ye owe to the sister Hours,
       No stinted cups, in a formal measure,
        The Bromian law makes ours.
       He honors us most who gives us most,
       And boasts, with a Bacchanal's honest boast,
        He never will count the treasure.
     Fastly we fleet, then seize our wings,
     And plunge us deep in the sparkling springs;
     And aye, as we rise with a dripping plume,
     We'll scatter the spray round the garland's bloom;
           We glow--we glow,
     Behold, as the girls of the Eastern wave
     Bore once with a shout to the crystal cave
       The prize of the Mysian Hylas,
           Even so--even so,
     We have caught the young god in our warm embrace
     We hurry him on in our laughing race;
     We hurry him on, with a whoop and song,
     The cloudy rivers of night along--
      Ho, ho!--we have caught thee, Psilas!

The guests applauded loudly. When the poet is your host, his verses are sure to charm.

'Thoroughly Greek,' said Lepidus: 'the wildness, force, and energy of that tongue, it is impossible to imitate in the Roman poetry.'

'It is, indeed, a great contrast,' said Clodius, ironically at heart, though not in appearance, 'to the old-fashioned and tame simplicity of that ode of Horace which we heard before. The air is beautifully Ionic: the word puts me in mind of a toast--Companions, I give you the beautiful Ione.'

'Ione!--the name is Greek,' said Glaucus, in a soft voice. 'I drink the health with delight. But who is Ione?'