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Or er'n those envious pearls that show
So faintly round that neck of snow
Yes, I would be a happy gem,
Like them to hang, to fade like them.
What more would thy Anacreon be?
Oh, anything that touches thee;
Nay, sandals for those airy feet-
Ev'n to be trod by them were sweet!1

But still its fainting sighs repeat,
"The tale of love alone is sweet!"4
Then fare thee well, seductive dream,
That mad'st me follow Glory's theme!
For thou my lyre, and thou my heart,
Shall never more in spirit part;
And all that one has felt so well
The other shall as sweetly tell!

ODE XXIII.2

I OFTEN wish this languid lyre,
This warbler of my soul's desire,
Could raise the breath of song sublime,
To men of fame, in former time.
But when the soaring theme I try,
Along the chords my numbers die,
And whisper, with dissolving tone,
"Our sighs are given to love alone!"
Indignant at the feeble lay,

I tore the panting chords away,
Attun'd them to a nobler swell,

And struck again the breathing shell;
In all the glow of epic fire,

To Hercules I wake the lyre,

1 Nay, sandals for those airy feet

Ev'n to be trod by them were sweet! The sophist Philostratus, in one of his love-letters, has borrowed this thought; e adeтOL Todes, w καλλος ελεύθερος, ω τρισευδαίμων εγω και μακαριος σαν πατήσετε με. - "Oh lovely feet! oh excellent beauty! oh! thrice happy and blessed should I be, if you would but tread on me!" In Shakspeare, Romeo desires to be a glove:

Oh that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might kiss that cheek!

And, in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with an idea somewhat like that of the thirteenth line :

He, spying her, bounc'd in, where as he stood,
"O Jove!" quoth she," why was not I a flood?"

In Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, that whimsical farrago of "all such reading as was never read," we find a translation of this ode made before 1632.-" Englished by Mr. B. Holiday, in his Technog. act i. scene 7.'

2 According to the order in which the odes are usually placed, this (Ocw Ayew Arpeidae) forms the first of the series; and is thought to be peculiarly designed as an introduction to the rest. It however characterises the genius of the Teian but very inadequately, as wine, the burden of his lays, is not even mentioned in it:

cum multo Venerem confundere mero Precepit Lyrici Teia Musa senis.

OVID.

The twenty-sixth Ode, Ev ev eyeıç wa Onßne, might, with just as much propriety, be placed at the head of his songs.

We find the sentiment of the ode before us expressed by Bion with much simplicity in his fourth idyl. The above translation is, perhaps, too paraphrastical; but the ode has been so frequently translated, that I could not otherwise avoid triteness and repetition. 3 In all the glow of epic fire,

To Hercules I wake the lyre.] Madame Dacier generally translates Avpn into a lute, which I believe is inaccurate. "D expliquer la lyre des anciens (says M. Sorel) par un luth, c'est ignorer la différence qu'il y a entre ces deux instrumens de musique."-Bibliothèque Françoise.

4 But still its fainting sighs repeat,

"The tale of love alone is sweet!"] The word arredare in the ori

ODE XXIV.

To all that breathe the air of heaven,
Some boon of strength has Nature given.
In forming the majestic bull,

She fenced with wreathed horns his skull;
A hoof of strength she lent the steed,
And wing'd the timorous hare with speed.
She gave the lion fangs of terror,
And, o'er the ocean's crystal mirror,
Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng
To trace their liquid path along;
While for the umbrage of the grove,
She plum'd the warbling world of love.

To man she gave, in that proud hour, The boon of intellectual power.

ginal, may imply that kind of musical dialogue practised by the ancients, in which the lyre was made to respond to the questions proposed by the singer. This was a method which Sappho used, sa we are told by Hermogenes; “drav ryp hupay epwra Zamów, cBI ŠTIP αυτή αποκρίνηται" - Περί Ιδεων, του δευτ.

5 Henry Stephen has imitated the idea of this ode in the following lines of one of his poems :

Provida dat cunctis Natura animantibus arma,

Et sua foemineum possidet arma genus,

Ungulâque ut defendit equum, atque ut cornus taurum,
Armata est formâ fœmina pulchra suâ.

And the same thought occurs in those lines, spoken by Corisca is Pastor Fido:

Cosi noi la bellezza

Ch'è vertù nostra cosi propria, come

La forza del leone,

E l'ingegno de l'huomo.

The lion boasts his savage powers,

And lordly man his strength of mind;

But beauty's charm is solely ours,
Peculiar boon, by Heav'n assign'd.

"An elegant explication of the beauties of this ode (says Derm) may be found in Grimm an den Anmerk. über einige Oden as Anakr."

• To man she gave, in that proud hour,

The boon of intellectual power.] In my first attempt to transiste this ode, I had interpreted pornua, with Baxter and Barnes, se in plying courage and military virtue; but I do not think that the ga lantry of the idea suffers by the import which I have now given t› it. For, why need we consider this possession of wisdom as exɗtsive? and in truth, as the design of Anacreon is to estimate the treasure of beauty, above all the rest which Nature has distributed it is perhaps even refining upon the delicacy of the complirsent, prefer the radiance of female charms to the cold illuminative off wisdom and prudence; and to think that women's eyes are

the books, the academies,
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.

Then, what, oh woman, what, for thee,
Was left in Nature's treasury?
She gave thee beauty-mightier far
Than all the pomp and power of war.1
Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power
Like woman in her conquering hour.
Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee,
Smile, and a world is weak before thee!?

One urchin imps the other's feather,
Then twin-desires they wing together,
And fast as they thus take their flight,
Still other urchins spring to light.
But is there then no kindly art,
To chase these Cupids from my heart;
Ah, no! I fear, in sadness fear,
They will for ever nestle here!

ODE XXV.3

ONCE in each revolving year,
Gentle bird! we find thee here.
When Nature wears her summer-vest,
Thou com'st to weave thy simple nest;
But when the chilling winter lowers,
Again thou seek'st the genial bowers
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile,
Where sunny hours for ever smile.
And thus thy pinion rests and roves,
Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves,
That brood within this hapless breast,
And never, never change their nest!'
Still every year, and all the year,
They fix their fated dwelling here;
And some their infant plumage try,
And on a tender winglet fly;
While in the shell, impregn'd with fires,
Still lurk a thousand more desires;
Some from their tiny prisons peeping,
And some in formless embryo sleeping.
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves,
My breast resounds with warbling Loves;

1 She gave thee beauty-mightier far

Thas all the pomp and power of war.] Thus Achilles Tatius:κάλλος αξύτερος τιτρώσκει βέλους, και δια των οφθαλμών εις την ψυχήν OT (patung yap bông epatiky Tрarmati, "Beauty wounds more wiftly than the arrow, and passes through the eye to the very soul; fur the eye is the inlet to the wounds of love."

2 Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee,

me, and a world is weak before thee!] Longepierre's remark here is ingenious:-"The Romans," says he, "were so convinced of the power of beauty, that they used a word implying strength in the place of the epithet beautiful. Thus Plautus, act 2. scene 2. Bachid

Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa.

Fortis, id est formosa, say Servius and Nonius."

1 We have here another ode addresed to the swallow. Alberti has imitated both in one poem, beginning

Perch' io pianga al tuo canto,
Rondinella importuna, &c.

4 Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves,
That brood within this hapless breast,

And never, never change their nest!] Thus Love is represented sa bird, in an epigram cited by Longepierre from the Antho

Αυτό και δινει μεν εν ουασιν ήχος ερωτός,

Ο μα δε σίγα ποθείς το γλυκυ δακρυ φέρει.

O Η αξ, ου φεγγος εκοίμισεν, αλλ' ύπο φίλτρων

Ήδη του κραδίη γνωστός ενεστι τύπος.

Ο σταρος, μη και ποτ' εφίπτασθαι μεν ερωτες

Ο διατ, αποστήναι δ' ουθ' όσον ισχύεται

ODE XXVI.3

THY harp may sing of Troy's alarms,
Or tell the tale of Theban arms;
With other wars my song shall burn,
For other wounds my harp shall mourn.
'Twas not the crested warrior's dart,
That drank the current of my heart;
Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed,
Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed;
No 'twas from eyes of liquid blue,
A host of quiver'd Cupids flew;"
And now my heart all bleeding lies
Beneath that army of the eyes!

ODE XXVII."

WE read the flying courser's name Upon his side, in marks of flame; And, by their turban'd brows alone, The warriors of the East are known.

"Tis Love that murmurs in my breast,
And makes me shed the secret tear ;
Nor day nor night my soul hath rest,
For night and day his voice I hear.

A wound within my heart I find,

And oh! 'tis plain where Love has been a For still he leaves a wound behind,

Such as within my heart is seen.

Oh, bird of Love! with song so drear,

Make not my soul the nest of pain;

But, let the wing which brought thee here,

In pity waft thee hence again!

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Τοξότα, Ζηνοφίλας ομμασι κρυπτομένος.
Archer Love! though slily creeping,
Well I know where thou dost lie;

I saw thee through the curtain peeping,
That fringes Zenophelia's eye.

The poets abound with conceits on the archery of the eyes, but few have turned the thought so naturally as Anacreon. Ronsard gives to the eyes of his mistress "un petit camp d'amours."

7 This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican MS., but I have conformed to the editions in translating them separately. "Compare with this (says Degen) the poem of Ramler Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 313."

But in the lover's glowing eyes,
The inlet to his bosom lies;'
Through them we see the small faint mark,
Where Love has dropp'd his burning spark!

ODE XXVIIL2

As, by his Lemnian forge's flame,
The husband of the Paphian dame
Moulded the glowing steel, to form
Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm;
And Venus, as he plied his art,
Shed honey round his new-made dart,
While Love, at hand, to finish all,
Tipp'd every arrow's point with gall;"
It chanc'd the Lord of Battles came
To visit that deep cave of flame.

"Twas from the ranks of war he rush'd, His spear with many a life-drop blush'd;

1 But in the lover's glowing eyes,

The inlet to his bosom lies;] "We cannot see into the heart," says Madame Dacier. But the lover answers

Il cor ne gli occhi et ne la fronte ho scritto.

M. La Fosse has given the following lines, as enlarging on the thought of Anacreon:

Lorsque je vois un amant,

Il cache en vain son tourment,

A le trahir tout conspire.
Sa langueur, son embarras,

Tout ce qu'il peut faire ou dire,
Même ce qu'il ne dit pas.

In vain the lover tries to veil

The flame that in his bosom lies;
His cheeks' confusion tells the tale,

We read it in his languid eyes:
And while his words the heart betray,
His silence speaks ev'n more than they.

2 This ode is referred to by La Mothe le Vayer, who, I believe, was the author of that curious little work, called "Hexameron Rustique." He makes use of this, as well as the thirty-fifth, in his ingenious but indelicate explanation of Homer's Cave of the Nymphs. Journée Quatrième.

3 While Love, at hand, to finish all,

Tipp'd every arrow's point with gall;] Thus Claudian :

Labuntur gemini fontes. hic dulcis, amarus
Alter, et infusis corrumpit mella venenis,
Unde Cupidineas armavit fama sagittas.

In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall,

And one with honey flows, and one with gall;
In these, if we may take the tale from fame,
The son of Venus dips his darts of flame.

See Alciatus, emblem 91., on the close connection which subsists between sweets and bitters. "Apes ideo pungunt (says Petronius), quia ubi dulce, ibi et acidum invenies."

The allegorical description of Cupid's employment, in Horace, may vie with this before us in fancy, though not in delicacy:-ferus et Cupido

Semper ardentes acuens sagittas

Cote cruenta.

And Cupid, sharpening all his fiery darts,

Upon a whetstone stain'd with blood of hearts.

Secundus has borrowed this, but has somewhat softened the image by the omission of the epithet "cruenta."

Fallor an ardentes acuebat cote sagittas? Eleg. 1.

He saw the fiery darts, and smil'd
Contemptuous at the archer-child.
"What!" said the urchin, "dost thou smile?
Here, hold this little dart awhile,

And thou wilt find, though swift of flight,
My bolts are not so feathery light."

Mars took the shaft-and, oh, thy look, Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took!— Sighing, he felt the urchin's art, And cried, in agony of heart, "It is not light-I sink with pain! Take- take thy arrow back again.' "No," said the child, "it must not be; That little dart was made for thee!"

ODE XXIX.

YES-loving is a painful thrill,

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Περί του δειν φιλησαι.
Προς Πέτρου Δανιηλα γειτον
Μεγα θαύμα των αφίδων,
Χαρίτων θάλος, Τσττε,
Φιλέωμεν, ως εταιρε
Φίλησαν οἱ σοφισται
Φίλησε σεμνος ανήρ,
Το τέκνον του Σωφρονίσκου,
Σοφίης πατηρ απαίτης.
Τι δ' ανευ γενοιτ' Έρωτος ;
Ακόνη μεν εστι ψυχής. Ο
Πτερύγεσσιν εις Ολύμπου
Κατακειμένους αναιρεί.
Βραδιας τετηγμένοισι
Βελετσι εξαγείρει.
Περι λαμπαδος φασινα
Ρυταρωτέρους καθαιρεί
Φελεμεν ουν, Χεττε,
Φιλέωμεν ως εταιρε
Αδίκως δε λοιδορούντι
Αγίους έρωτας ήματα
Κακον αυξομαι το μουνότ
Ίνα μη δύναιτ' εκείνος

Φιλέειν τε και φιλεῖσθαι.

Thou of tuneful bards the first,
Thou by all the Graces nurst;
Friend! each other friend above,
Come with me, and learn to love.
Loving is a simple lore,
Graver men have learn'd before;
Nay, the boast of former ages,
Wisest of the wisest sages,
Sophroniscus' prudent son,
Was by love's illusion won.
Oh

how heavy life would move, If we knew not how to love! Love's a whetstone to the mind; Thus 'tis pointed, thus refined. When the soul dejected lies, Love can waft it to the skies;

This line is borrowed from an epigram by Alpheus of Mitylene which Menage, I think, says somewhere he was himself the first to produce to the world:

Ψυχής εστιν Έρως ακονήμ

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But oh, it is the worst of pain,
To love and not be lov'd again!
Affection now has fled from earth,
Nor fire of genius, noble birth,
Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile

From beauty's cheek one favouring smile.
Gold is the woman's only theme,
Gold is the woman's only dream.
Oh! never be that wretch forgiven-
Forgive him not, indignant heaven!
Whose grovelling eyes could first adore,
Whose heart could pant for sordid ore.
Since that devoted thirst began,
Man has forgot to feel for man;
The pulse of social life is dead,
And all its fonder feelings fled!

War too has sullied Nature's charms,

For gold provokes the world to arms:

And oh! the worst of all its arts,

It rends asunder loving hearts.

ODE XXX.1

TWAS in a mocking dream of night-
I fancied I had wings as light
As a young bird's, and flew as fleet;
While Love, around whose beauteous feet,

When in languor sleeps the heart.
Love can wake it with his dart ;
When the mind is dull and dark,
Love can light it with his spark!
Come, oh! come then, let us haste
All the bliss of love to taste;
Let us love both night and day,
Let us love our lives away!

And when hearts, from loving free,
(If indeed such hearts there be,)
Frown upon our gentle flame,
And the sweet delusion blame;
This shall be my only curse,

(Could I, could I wish them worse?)

May they ne'er the rapture prove,
Of the smile from lips we love!

! Barnes imagines from this allegory, that our poet married very late in life. But I see nothing in the ode which alludes to matriBony, except it be the lead upon the feet of Cupid; and I agree in the opinion of Madame Dacier, in her life of the poet, that he was always too fond of pleasure to marry.

The design of this little fiction is to intimate, that much greater pin attends insensibilty than can ever result from the tenderest ressions of love. Longepierre has quoted an ancient epigram With bears some similitude to this ode:-

Lecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis
Carpebam, et somno lumina victa dabam;

Cam me sævus Amor prensum, sursumque capillis

Excitat, et lacerum pervigilare jubet.

Tu famulus meus, inquit, ames cum mille puellas,

Solus Io, solus, dure jacere potes?

Exilio et pedibus nudis, tunicaque soluta,
One iter impedio, nullum iter expedio.
Nane propero, nunc ire piget; rursumque redire
Panitet; et pudor est stare via media.

Ecce tacent voces hominum, strepitusque ferarum,
Et volucrum cantus, turbaque fida canum.

I knew not why, hung chains of lead,
Pursued me, as I trembling fled;
And, strange to say, as swift as thought,
Spite of my pinions, I was caught!
What does the wanton Fancy mean
By such a strange, illusive scene?
I fear she whispers to my breast,

That you, sweet maid, have stol'n its rest;
That though my fancy, for a while,
Hath hung on many a woman's smile,
I soon dissolv'd each passing vow,
And ne'er was caught by love till now!

ODE XXXI.2

ARM'D with hyacinthine rod,
(Arms enough for such a god,)
Cupid bade me wing my pace,
And try with him the rapid race.
O'er many a torrent, wild and deep,
By tangled brake and pendent steep,
With weary foot I panting flew,

Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew.3
And now my soul, exhausted, dying,
To my lip was faintly flying;
And now I thought the spark had fled,
When Cupid hover'd o'er my head,

Solus ego ex cunctis paveo somnumque torumque,
Et sequor imperium, sæve Cupido, tuum.
Upon my couch I lay, at night profound,.
My languid eyes in magic slumber bound,

When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my bed,

And forc'd me many a weary way to tread.
"What! (said the god) shall you, whose vows are known
Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone?"

I rise and follow; all the night I stray,

Unshelter'd, trembling, doubtful of my way;
Tracing with naked foot the painful track,

Loth to proceed, yet fearful to go back.

Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd,
Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks are heard,
I, I alone, a fugitive from rest,

Passion my guide, and madness in my breast,
Wander the world around, unknowing where,
The slave of love, the victim of despair!

3 Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew.] I have followed those who read τειρεν ίδρως for πειρεν ύδρος; the former is partly authorised by the MS. which reads πειρεν ίδρως.

4 And now my soul, exhausted, dying,

To my lip was faintly flying; &c.] In the original, he says, his heart flew to his nose; but our manner more naturally transfers it to the lips. Such is the effect that Plato tells us he felt from a kiss, in a distich quoted by Aulus Gellius:

Την ψυχήν Αγάθωνα φίλων, επι χείλεσιν εσχον.
Ηλθε γαρ ή τλημων ὡς διαβησομένη.

Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip,

And drink thy breath, in trance divine,

My soul then flutters to my lip,

Ready to fly and mix with thine.

Aulus Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this epigram, in which we find a number of those mignardises of expression, which mark the effemination of the Latin language.

And fanning light his breezy pinion,
Rescued my soul from death's dominion;'
Then said, in accents half-reproving,
"Why hast thou been a foe to loving?"

ODE XXXII.2

STREW me a fragrant bed of leaves,
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves;
And while in luxury's dream I sink,
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink!
In this sweet hour of revelry
Young Love shall my attendant be-
Drest for the task, with tunic round
His snowy neck and shoulders bound,
Himself shall hover by my side,
And minister the racy tide!

Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll,
Our life is hurrying to the goal:
A scanty dust, to feed the wind,
Is all the trace 'twill leave behind.
Then wherefore waste the rose's bloom
Upon the cold, insensate tomb 2
Can flowery breeze, or odour's breath,
Affect the still, cold sense of death?
I ask no balm to steep

Oh no;
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep:
But now, while every pulse is glowing,
Now let me breathe the balsam flowing;
Now let the rose, with blush of fire,
Upon my brow in sweets expire;

And bring the nymph whose eye hath power
To brighten even death's cold hour.

Yes, Cupid! ere my shade retire,

To join the blest elysian choir,

With wine, and love, and social cheer,
I'll make my own elysium here!

1 And fanning light his breezy pinion,

Rescued my soul from death's dominion;] "The facility with which Cupid recovers him, signifies that the sweets of love make us easily forget any solicitudes which he may occasion."- La Fosse. 2 We here have the poet, in his true attributes, reclining upon myrtles, with Cupid for his cup-bearer. Some interpreters have ruined the picture by making Epws the name of his slave. None but Love should fill the goblet of Anacreon. Sappho, in one of her fragments, has assigned this office to Venus. Exbe, Ku#pi, xou. σείαισιν εν κυλίκεσσιν άθροις συμμεμιγμένον θαλιαισι νέκταρ οινοχουσα τούτοισι τοις έταιροις έμοις γε και σοις. Which may be thus paraphrased :

Hither, Venus, queen of kisses,
This shall be the night of blisses;
This the night, to friendship dear,
Thou shalt be our Hebe here.
Fill the golden brimmer high,
Let it sparkle like thine eye;
Bid the rosy current gush,
Let it mantle like thy blush.
Goddess, hast thou e'er above
Seen a feast so rich in love?

ODE XXXIII.3

'Twas noon of night, when round the pole The sullen Bear is seen to roll;

And mortals, wearied with the day,
Are slumbering all their cares away:
An infant, at that dreary hour,
Came weeping to my silent bower,
And wak'd me with a piteous prayer,
To shield him from the midnight air.
"And who art thou," I waking cry,
"That bid'st my blissful visions fly?"
"Ah, gentle sire!" the infant said,
"In pity take me to thy shed;
Nor fear deceit: a lonely child
I wander o'er the gloomy wild.
Chill drops the rain, and not a ray
Illumes the drear and misty way!"

I heard the baby's tale of woe; I heard the bitter night-winds blow; And sighing for his piteous fate, I trimm'd my lamp and op'd the gate. 'Twas Love! the little wand'ring sprite, His pinion sparkled through the night. I knew him by his bow and dart; I knew him by my fluttering heart. Fondly I take him in, and raise The dying embers' cheering blaze; Press from his dank and clinging hair The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and bosom hold His little fingers thrilling cold.

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Not a soul that is not mine! Not a soul that is not thine! "Compare with this ode (says the German commentator) the beautiful poem in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 296., * Ams als Diener.'"

3 M. Bernard, the author of L'Art d'aimer, has written a ballet called "Les Surprises de l'Amour," in which the subject of the third entrée is Anacreon, and the story of this ode suggests one of the scenes. Euvres de Bernard, Anac. scene 4th.

The German annotator refers us here to an imitation by Uz. lib. iii., "Amor und sein Bruder;" and a poem of Kleist, “ die Heilung." La Fontaine has translated, or rather imitated, this ode.

4"And who art thou," I waking cry,

"That bid'st my blissful visions fly"] Anacreon appears to have been a voluptuary even in dreaming, by the lively regret which he expresses at being disturbed from his visionary enjoyments. See the odes x. and xxxvii.

5 'Twas Love! the little wand'ring sprite, &c.] See the beautiful description of Cupid, by Moschus, in his first idyl

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