1830.] Bring me Wine ! 61 



disrespect toward any individual whatever), that we are to acquire our 

 information relative to Greece ? from men who look at objects through 

 a perverted medium ; and, wholly regardless of their accuracy, believe 

 or disbelieve accounts, just as they fall in with their various passions or 

 opinions? That there are exceptions to this statement, distinguished 

 exceptions, cannot be contested by any who have perused the works of 

 Colonel Leake, and Mr. Waddington. But still our general position is 

 true , and however it may be carped at by those who feel themselves 

 touched by the censure, we are perfectly confident that the impartial and 

 the unprejudiced will be of our opinion. 



BRING ME WINE ! 



[From the Persian.] 

 By T. W. KELLY, Author of " Myrtle Leaves.' 



Go scatter Flowers, and bring me Wine,* 

 That while I drink, their incense sweet 



May charm my soul with dreams divine 

 Of her my fancy joys to meet. 



But ah ! her absence brings a pain, 

 Which ne'er can be in wine forgot ; 



Then take, oh ! take the cup again 

 Wine has no charms where she is not ! 



Oh, that I were her Robe, I'd cling 

 . Her fair form tenderly around ; 

 Or, were I that bright jewelled Ring 

 About her well-turned ankle bound ! 



Or, one of those pure Bells of gold 



Which, hanging, decks her radiant zone, 



More than my tongue has ever told 



Should breathe in its impassioned tone 1 



Or, the fair Rose set in the maze, 

 The fragrant maze of her dark hair ; 



Delighted on her brow I'd gaze, 

 And still her unmatched charms declare. 



But ere those charms I could reveal, 

 The jealous gale would, vexed to see 



Me honoured thus,, untimely steal 

 My breath, my bliss, my extacy ! 



Then would I were the Leaf t which dyes 



Her snowy feet with ruby hue ! 

 How dearly would her lover prize 



A kiss so odorous and so true ! 



But more than worlds I'd deem obtained, 

 Were I the white Symar which, blest, 



Enshrines her heart, that mine has chained, 

 And made a fugitive from rest. 



* " Call for wine, and scatter flowers around." Asiat. Res. vol. iii. p. 174. 

 j- The (juice of) Alactaca. Fide the Songs of Jayadeva. 



