Translations of Roman poems to the Roman Goddess Ceres (Greek Goddess Demeter):
“First Ceres taught, the Ground with Grain to sow,
And arm’d with Iron Shares the crooked Plough,
When now Dodonian Oaks no more supply’d
Their mast, and other Trees their Forests Fruits deny’d.”— Dryden.
“ Thy annual Off’rings to great Ceres bring,
On the green Turf performing sacred Rites,
When Winter ends, and Spring now smiles serene,
Ceres let all thy rustic Youth adore:
For Her do Thou with Honey mingle Milk,
And gentle Wine: And round the recent Grain
Let the propitious Victim thrice be led:
Her in full Chorus let the Peasants all
Singing attend, and with loud Shouts invite
Ceres beneath their Roofs: Nor any thrust
His Sickle to the Corn: till wreath’d with Oak,
To Ceres he has paid the Honours due,
With uncouth Dances, and unpolish’d Verse.” --- Pietro Trapassi.
“ The solemn Feast of Ceres now was near,
When long white Linnen Stoles the Matrons wear:
Rank’d in Procession walk the pious Train,
Off’ring First-fruits, and Wreaths of golden Grain:
For nine long Nights the Nuptial Bed they shun,
And sanctifying Harvest, lie alone.” --- Dryden.
“ Ceres her Dragons guides; aloft they fly,
And print a winding Track along the Sky:
The curbing Bit with rising Foam they stain,
And work their harmless Poison on the Rein.
High rise their Crests, and beauteous to behold,
Their speckled Backs are scal’d with green and gold.
Now thro’ the Zephyrs they direct their Flight,
And now descending, on the Meadows light:
The whirling Wheels revolving o’er the Ground,
The Fields impregnate, as the Glebe [Globe] they wound:
A sudden Harvest starts upon the Plain,
And in the Furrows springs the yellow Grain,
Where e’er she comes.” ----- Hughes.
“ Ceres the Pow’r of the prolific Year,
A Daughter had superlatively fair,
Nor bore a second Birth: in This alone
More Honours she obtain’d, and more Renown,
Than all the teeming Mothers: in her Face
Her Proserpine had summ’d the Beauties of a Race.” --- Hughes.
From Medulla Poetarum Romanorum, or, The Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets, with translations by Henry Baker, Vol. I., London, England, 1737, ps. 135-139
https://books.google.com/books?id=wzA5AQAAMAAJ&pg=PA91&lpg=PA91&dq=bacchus+triennial+festival&source=bl&ots=ihD7WCaR6F&sig=LwF0T7PZpxfMlttgaeaa2tNfiH0&hl=en&sa=X&ei=yDQVU7XgJ-He0QH47oEQ&ved=0CCgQ6AEwAQ#v=onepage&q=ceres&f=false
“First Ceres taught, the Ground with Grain to sow,
And arm’d with Iron Shares the crooked Plough,
When now Dodonian Oaks no more supply’d
Their mast, and other Trees their Forests Fruits deny’d.”— Dryden.
“ Thy annual Off’rings to great Ceres bring,
On the green Turf performing sacred Rites,
When Winter ends, and Spring now smiles serene,
Ceres let all thy rustic Youth adore:
For Her do Thou with Honey mingle Milk,
And gentle Wine: And round the recent Grain
Let the propitious Victim thrice be led:
Her in full Chorus let the Peasants all
Singing attend, and with loud Shouts invite
Ceres beneath their Roofs: Nor any thrust
His Sickle to the Corn: till wreath’d with Oak,
To Ceres he has paid the Honours due,
With uncouth Dances, and unpolish’d Verse.” --- Pietro Trapassi.
“ The solemn Feast of Ceres now was near,
When long white Linnen Stoles the Matrons wear:
Rank’d in Procession walk the pious Train,
Off’ring First-fruits, and Wreaths of golden Grain:
For nine long Nights the Nuptial Bed they shun,
And sanctifying Harvest, lie alone.” --- Dryden.
“ Ceres her Dragons guides; aloft they fly,
And print a winding Track along the Sky:
The curbing Bit with rising Foam they stain,
And work their harmless Poison on the Rein.
High rise their Crests, and beauteous to behold,
Their speckled Backs are scal’d with green and gold.
Now thro’ the Zephyrs they direct their Flight,
And now descending, on the Meadows light:
The whirling Wheels revolving o’er the Ground,
The Fields impregnate, as the Glebe [Globe] they wound:
A sudden Harvest starts upon the Plain,
And in the Furrows springs the yellow Grain,
Where e’er she comes.” ----- Hughes.
“ Ceres the Pow’r of the prolific Year,
A Daughter had superlatively fair,
Nor bore a second Birth: in This alone
More Honours she obtain’d, and more Renown,
Than all the teeming Mothers: in her Face
Her Proserpine had summ’d the Beauties of a Race.” --- Hughes.
From Medulla Poetarum Romanorum, or, The Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets, with translations by Henry Baker, Vol. I., London, England, 1737, ps. 135-139
https://books.google.com/books?id=wzA5AQAAMAAJ&pg=PA91&lpg=PA91&dq=bacchus+triennial+festival&source=bl&ots=ihD7WCaR6F&sig=LwF0T7PZpxfMlttgaeaa2tNfiH0&hl=en&sa=X&ei=yDQVU7XgJ-He0QH47oEQ&ved=0CCgQ6AEwAQ#v=onepage&q=ceres&f=false
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