roman-deities-and-spirits

"The darlings of Aurora’s bed,"

"With gentle hand, as seeming oft to pause, The purple curtains of the morn she draws."

"Mercury: I’le rowle me in Auroras Dew,"

"For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach ghosts, wandering here and there, Troop home to churchyards."

"As faire Aurora in her morning gray, Deckt with the ruddie glister of her love Is faire Samela;"

"Whose head, befringed with bescattered tresses, Shows like Apollo’s when the morn he dresses, Or like Aurora when with pearl she sets Her long, dishevell’d, rose-crown’d trammelets:"

"The Morning Curtains now are drawn, And now appears the blushing dawn; Aurora has her Roses shed, To strew the way Sol’s steeds must tread."

"But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn, With rosy lustre purpled o'er the lawn."

"O happy Tithon! if thou know’st thy hap, And valuest thy wealth, as I my want, Then need’st thou not—which ah! I grieve to grant— Repine at Jove, lull’d in his leman’s lap: That golden shower in which he did repose— One dewy drop it stains Which thy Aurora rains Upon the rural plains, When from thy bed she passionately goes.Then, waken’d with the music of the merles, She not remembers Memnon when she mourns: That faithful flame which in her bosom burns From crystal conduits throws those liquid pearls: Sad from thy sight so soon to be removed, She so her grief delates. —O favour’d by the fates Above the happiest states, Who art of one so worthy well-beloved!"

"The wolves have prey'd: and look, the gentle day, Before the wheels of Phœbus, round about, Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey."

"The lively lark stretched forth her wing, The messenger of morning bright, And with her cheerful voice did sing The day’s approach, discharging night, When that Aurora, blushing red, Descried the guilt of Thetis’ bed."

"At last, the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre, And Phœbus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre; And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy ayre."

"Her cheekes are like the blushing clowde That beautefies Auroraes face,"

"See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air:"

"Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying."

"Night's son was driving His golden-haired horses up; Over the eastern firths High flashed their manes."

"Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure, And bosom beating with a heart renew’d. Thy cheek begins to redden thro’ the gloom, Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine, Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise, And shake the darkness from their loosen’d manes, And beat the twilight into flakes of fire."

"Aurora had but newly chased the night, And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light."

"You cannot rob me of free nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky Through which Aurora shows her brightening face."

"But O, young beauty of the woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Gather the flowers, but spare the buds; Lest Flora, angry at thy crime To kill her infants in their prime, Do quickly make th’ example yours; And ere we see, Nip in the blossom all our hopes and thee."

"Nature’s confectioner, the bee, ... Having rifled all the fields Of what dainty Flora yields,"

"See where my Love a-Maying goes With sweet dame Flora sporting! She most alone with nightingales In woods delights consorting."

"And that white-robed wheedler there, dragged open-mouthed by his thirst for office—is he his own master? Up with you before dawn, and deal out showers of vetches for the people to scramble for, that old men sunning themselves in their old age may tell of the splendour of our Floralia! How grand!"

"Nymphs and shepherds, come away, In this grove let’s sport and play; For this is Flora’s holiday, Sacred to ease and happy love, To music, to dancing and to poetry. Your flocks may now securely rest While you express your jollity! Nymphs and shepherds, come away.Nymphs and shepherds, pipe and play, Tune a song, a festal lay; For this is Flora’s holiday, Lightly we tread o’er all the ground, With music, with dancing and with poetry. Then trip we round with merry sound, And pass the day in jollity! Nymphs and shepherds, come away."

"I who now am called Flora was formerly Chloris: a Greek letter of my name is corrupted in the Latin speech. Chloris I was, a nymph of the happy fields where, as you have heard, dwelt fortunate men of old. Modesty shrinks from describing my figure; but it procured the hand of a god for my mother's daughter. 'Twas spring, and I was roaming; Zephyr caught sight of me; I retired; he pursued and I fled; but he was the stronger, and Boreas had given his brother full right of rape by daring to carry off the prize from the house of Erechtheus. However, he made amends for his violence by giving me the name of bride, and in my marriage-bed I have naught to complain of. I enjoy perpetual spring; most buxom is the year ever; ever the tree is clothed with leaves, the ground with pasture. In the fields that are my dower, I have a fruitful garden, fanned by the breeze and watered by a spring of running water. This garden my husband filled with noble flowers and said, 'Goddess, be queen of flowers.' Oft did I wish to count the colours in the beds, but could not; the number was past counting. Soon as the dewy rime is shaken from the leaves, and the varied foliage is warmed by the sunbeams, the Hours assemble, clad in dappled weeds, and cull my gifts in light baskets. Straightway the Graces draw near, and twine garlands and wreaths to bind their heavenly hair. I was the first to scatter new seeds among the countless peoples; till then the earth had been of but one colour. I was the first to make a flower out of Therapnaean blood, and on its petals the lament remains inscribed. Thou, too. Narcissus, hast a name in the trim gardens, unhappy thou in that thou hadst not a double of thyself. What need to tell of Crocus, and Attis, and the son of Cinyras, from whose wounds by my art doth beauty spring?"

"Why need I tell of the purple wraps and the wrestling-oils used by women? Who has not seen one of them smiting a stump, piercing it through and through with a foil, lunging at it with a shield, and going through all the proper motions ?—a matron truly qualified to blow a trumpet at the Floralia!"

"Perhaps you may think that I am queen only of dainty garlands; but my divinity has to do also with the tilled fields. If the crops have blossomed well, the threshing-floor will be piled high; if the vines have blossomed well, there will be wine; if the olive-trees have blossomed well, most buxom will be the year; and the fruitage will be according to the time of blossoming. If once the blossom is nipped, the vetches and beans wither, and thy lentils, O Nile that comest from afar, do likewise wither. Wines also bloom, laboriously stored in great cellars, and a scum covers their surface in the jars. Honey is my gift. 'Tis I who call the winged creatures, which yield honey, to the violet, and the clover, and the grey thyme. 'Tis I, too, who discharge the same function when in youthful years spirits run riot and bodies are robust."

"A rakish stage fits Flora well; she is not, believe me she is not, to be counted among your buskined goddesses. ... She is none of your glum, none of your high-flown ones: she wishes her rites to be open to the common herd; and she warns us to use life's flower, while it still blooms; for the thorn, she reminds us, is flouted when the roses have fallen away."

"About the same time he dedicated some temples of the gods, which had perished from age or from fire, and which Augustus had begun to restore. These were temples to Liber, Libera, and Ceres, near the Great Circus, which last Aulus Postumius, when Dictator, had vowed; a temple to Flora in the same place, which had been built by Lucius and Marcus Publicius, ædiles, ..."

"And May with Flora, did company bear;"

"There is scent of the speech of the Sabines about the altars also, which by the vow of King Tatius were dedicated at Rome: for, as the Annals tell, he vowed altars to Ops, Flora, Vediovis and Saturn, Sun, Moon, Vulcan and Summanus, and likewise to Larunda, Terminus, Quirinus, Vertumnus, the Lares, Diana and Lucina: some of these names have roots in both languages, like trees which have sprung up on the boundary line and creep about in both fields: for Saturn might be used as the god's name from one source here, and from another among the Sabines, and so also Diana; ..."

"Now how great must that immortality be thought which is attained even by harlots! Flora, having obtained great wealth by this practice, made the people her heir, and left a fixed sum of money, from the annual proceeds of which her birthday might be celebrated by public games, which they called Floralia. And because this appeared disgraceful to the senate, in order that a kind of dignity might be given to a shameful matter, they resolved that an argument should be taken from the name itself. They pretended that she was the goddess who presides over flowers, and that she must be appeased, that the crops, together with the trees or vines, might produce a good and abundant blossom. The poet followed up this idea in his Fasti, and related that there was a nymph, by no means obscure, who was called Chloris, and that, on her marriage with Zephyrus, she received from her husband as a wedding gift the control over all flowers. These things are spoken with propriety, but to believe them is unbecoming and shameful. And when the truth is in question, ought disguises of this kind to deceive us? Those games, therefore, are celebrated with all wantonness, as is suitable to the memory of a harlot. For besides licentiousness of words, in which all lewdness is poured forth, women are also stripped of their garments at the demand of the people, and then perform the office of mimeplayers, and are detained in the sight of the people with indecent gestures, even to the satiating of unchaste eyes."

"So you may give up all the performances of Flora, of Ceres, and of Cybele; so much finer are the games of human life."

"O Christ of God! whose life and death Our own have reconciled, Most quietly, most tenderly Take home thy star-named child!Thy grace is in her patient eyes, Thy words are on her tongue; The very silence round her seems As if the angels sung.Her smile is as a listening child’s Who hears its mother’s call; The lilies of Thy perfect peace About her pillow fall.She leans from out our clinging arms To rest herself in Thine; Alone to Thee, dear Lord, can we Our well-beloved resign.O, less for her than for ourselves We bow our heads and pray; Her setting star, like Bethlehem’s, To Thee shall point the way!"

"'His nature is too noble for the world': He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder."

"It is poetically remarked, a thousand times has it been repeated, but history proves it without a metaphor by the experience of centuries, that The Trident of Neptune is the Sceptre of the World."

"Now Neptune's sullen month appears, The angry night cloud swells with tears, And savage storms infuriate driven, Fly howling in the face of heaven! Now, now, my friends, the gathering gloom With roseate rays of wine illume: And while our wreaths of parsley spread Their fadeless foliage round our head, We'll hymn th' almighty power of wine, And shed libations on his shrine!"

"Over the mountains, And over the waves, Over the fountains, And under the graves; Over the floods that are deepest, Which do Neptune obey; Over the rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way."

"Alfin s'invecchia amore Senza quest' arti, e divien pigro e lento, Quasi destrier che men veloce corra, Se non ha chilo segua, o chi 'l precorra."

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love’s mind of any judgement taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste. And therefore is love said to be a child Because in choice he is so oft beguiled."

"Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses—Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lips, the rose Growing one's cheek (but none knows how); With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin: All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes— She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this for thee? What shall, alas! become of me?"

"Who worships Cupid doth adore a boy; Boys' earnest are at first in their delight, But for a new soon leave their dearest toy, And out of mind as soon as out of sight;"

"My merry, merry, merry roundelay Concludes with Cupid's curse: They that do change old love for new, Pray gods, they change for worse!"

"Cupid draw back your bow And let your arrow go Straight to my lover's heart for me For me... Cupid please hear my cry And let your arrow fly Straight to my lover's heart for me."

"Voiture belonged to a race of poets essentially French, who sacrificed to the Graces instead of the Muses; to whom Cupid, with his wings and arrows, was the ideal of love, and whose art of poetry consisted in epigram, tournure, readiness, and facility."

"Let Cupid smile and the fiend must flee; Hey and hither, my lad."

"What thing is love?—for (well I wot) love is a thing It is a prick, it is a sting, It is a pretty, pretty thing; It is a fire, it is a coal, Whose flame creeps in at every hole!"

"CUPID, n. The so-called god of love. This bastard creation of a barbarous fancy was no doubt inflicted upon mythology for the sins of its deities. Of all unbeautiful and inappropriate conceptions this is the most reasonless and offensive. The notion of symbolizing sexual love by a semisexless babe, and comparing the pains of passion to the wounds of an arrow -- of introducing this pudgy homunculus into art grossly to materialize the subtle spirit and suggestion of the work -- this is eminently worthy of the age that, giving it birth, laid it on the doorstep of prosperity."

"This house is to be let for life or years; Her rent is sorrow, and her income tears. Cupid, 't has long stood void; her bills make known, She must be dearly let, or let alone."

"When Adam long ago in Cupid's awful court (For Cupid ruled ere Adam was invented) Sued for Eve's favor, says an ancient law report, He stood and pleaded unhabilimented. "You sue in forma pauperis, I see," Eve cried; "Actions can't here be that way prosecuted." So all poor Adam's motions coldly were denied: He went away -- as he had come -- nonsuited."