Ye immortal gods! where in the world are we?
[Lat., O dii immortales! ubinam gentium sumus?]

Ye immortal gods! where in the world are we?
[Lat., O dii immortales! ubinam gentium sumus?]

Cupid is a casuist, a mystic, and a cabalist,--
Can your lurking thought surprise,
And interpret your read more

Cupid is a casuist, a mystic, and a cabalist,--
Can your lurking thought surprise,
And interpret your device,
. . . .
All things wait for and divine him,--
How shall I dare to malign him?

Speak of the gods as they are.

Speak of the gods as they are.

I, Phoebus, sang those songs that gained so much renown
I, Phoebus, sang them; Homer only wrote them down.

I, Phoebus, sang those songs that gained so much renown
I, Phoebus, sang them; Homer only wrote them down.

Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below, and gods above!
Beneath the sliding read more

Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below, and gods above!
Beneath the sliding sun thou runn'st thy race,
Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place;
For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear,
Thy mouth reveals the spring, and opens all the year;
Thee, goddess, thee, the storms of winter fly,
Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the sky.

The Graces, three erewhile, are three no more;
A fourth is come with perfume sprinkled o'er.
'Tis read more

The Graces, three erewhile, are three no more;
A fourth is come with perfume sprinkled o'er.
'Tis Berenice blest and fair; were she
Away the Graces would no Graces be.

Yet verily these issues lie on the lap of the gods.

Yet verily these issues lie on the lap of the gods.

Therefore, if the gods are immortal and eternal, what need is there of the other sex, when they themselves do read more

Therefore, if the gods are immortal and eternal, what need is there of the other sex, when they themselves do not require succession, since they are always about to exist?rn

Say, Bacchus, why so placid? What can there be
In commune held by Pallas and by thee?
read more

Say, Bacchus, why so placid? What can there be
In commune held by Pallas and by thee?
Her pleasure is in darts and battles; thine
In joyous feasts and draughts of rosy wine.