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Yes, Cupid ! ere my soul retire, | Press from his dank and clinging hair
To join the blest Elysian choir, The crystals of the freezing air,
With wine, and love, and blisses dear, And in my hand and bosoin hold
I'll make my own Elysium here ! His little fingers thrilling cold.

And now the embers' genial ray
Had warmed his anxious fears away ;
• I pray thee,' said the wanton child

(My bosom trembled as he smiled), ODE XXXIII. 1

I pray thee let nie try my bow,

For through the rain I've waudered so, 'Twas noon of night, when round the That much I fear the ceaseless shower pole

Has injured its elastic power.' The sollen Bear is seen to roll;

The fatal bow the urchin drew , And mortals, wearied with the day, Swift from the string the arrow flew; Are slumbering all their cares away: Oh! swift it flew as glancing flame, An infant, at that dreary hour, And to my very soul it came ! Came weeping to my silent bower, * Fare thee well,' I heard him say, And waked me with a piteous prayer, As laughing wild he winged away ; To save him from the midnight air ! • Fare thee well, for now I know 'And who art thou,' I waking cry, The rain has not relaxed my bow; That bid'st my blissful visions fly?' It still can send a maddening dart, O gentle sire! the infant said, As thou shalt own with all thy heart ! *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, Tlumes the drear and misty way!

ODE XXXIV.3 I hear the baby's tale of woe; I hear the bitter night-winds blow; On thou, of all creation blest, And, sighing for his piteous fate, Sweet insect ! that delight'st to rest I trimmed my lamp, and oped the gate. Upon the wild wood's leafy tops, 'Twas Love! the little wandering To drink the dew that morning drops, sprite,

And chirp thy song with such a glee, His pinion sparkled through the night! That happiest kings may envy thee ! I knew him by his bow and dart; Whatever decks the velvet field, I knew him by my fluttering heart ! Whate'er the circling seasons yield, I take him in, and fondly raise Whatever buds, whatever blows, The dying embers' cheering blaze; For thee it buds, for thee it grows.

Anacreon appears to have been a volup- Oh thou, that on the grassy bed tuary even in dreaming, by the lively regret Which Nature's vernal hand has spread, which he expresses at being disturbed from Reclinest soft, and turu'st thy song, his visionary enjoyments. See the Odes x. and The dewy herbs and leaves among! vii,

Whether thou liest on springing flowers, * See the beautiful description of Cupid, by

Drunk with the balmy morning-showers, Moschus, in his first idyl.

Or, etc. 3 Father Rapin, in a Latin ode addressed to see what Licetus says about grasshoppers, cap. the grasshopper, has preserved some of the 93 and 185. thoughts of our author :

+ 'Some authors have affirmed (says Madame

Dacier) that it is only male grasshoppers which O quæ virenti graminis in toro,

sing, and that the females are silent; and on this Cicada, blande sidis, et herbidos

circumstance is founded a bon-mot of Xenarchus, Saltas oberras, otiosos

the comic poet, who says, “Are not the grass. Ingeniosa ciere cantus.

hoppers happy in having dumb wives ?". This Seu forte adultis floribus incubas, note is originally Henry Stephens'; but I chose Cæli caducis ebria fletibus, etc.

rather to make Madame Dacier mvauthority for it.

Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear,

To him thy friendly notes are dear;
For thou art mild as matin dew, CUPID once upon a bed
And still, when summer's flowery hue Of roses laid his weary head ;
Begins to paint the bloomy plain, Luckless urchin not to see
We hear thy sweet prophetic strain ; Within the leaves a slumbering bee !
Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, The bee awaked-with anger wild
And bless the notes and thee revere ! The bee awaked and stung the child.
The Muses love thy shrilly tone; Loud and piteous are his cries ;
Apollo calls thee all his own ;

To Venus quick he runs, he flies !
'Twas he who gave that voice to thee, "Oh mother! I am wounded through
"Tis he who tunes thy minstrelsy. I die with pain-in sooth I do!
Unworn by age's dim decline,

Stung by some little angry thing,
The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. Some serpent on a tiny wing-
Melodious insect! child of earth ! A bee it was --for once, I know,
In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth; I heard a rustic call it so.'
Exempt from every weak decay, Thus he spoke, and she the while
That withers vulgar frames away ;

Heard him with a soothing smile;
With not a drop of blood to stain Then said, “My infant, if so much
The current of thy purer vein ;

Thou feel the little wild bee's touch, So blest an age is passed by thee How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be, Thou seem'st a little deity!

The hapless heart that's stung by thee!'

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I Longepierre has quoted the two first lines of
an epigram of Antipater from the first book of
the Anthologia, where he prefers the grasshopper
to the swan:
Αρκει τεττιγας μεθυσαι δροσος, αλλα πιoντες
Αειδειν κυκνων εισι γεγονοτεροι,
In dew, that drops from morning's wings,

The gay Cicada sipping floats;
And, drunk with dew, his matin sings

Sweeter than any cygnet's notes.
2 Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in
his nineteenth idyl, but is very inferior, I think,
to his original, in delicacy of point and naiveté
of expression. Spenser, in one of his smaller
compositions, has sported more diffusely on the
same subject. The poem to which I allude begins
thus :
Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering

All in his mother's lap,
A gentle bee, with his loud trumpet murmuring,

About him flew by hap, etc.
in Almeloveen's collection of epigrams, there is
one by Luxorius, correspondent somewhat with
the turn ot' Anacreon, where Love complains to
his mother of being wounded by a rose.

The ode before us is the very flower of simplicity. The intantine complainings of the little god, and the natural and impressive reflections which they draw from Venus, are beauties of inimitable grace. I hope I shall be pardoned for inFroducing another Greek Anacreontic of Menage, not for its similitude to the subject of this ode, but for some faint traces of this natural simplicity, which it appears to me to have preserved :

Ερως ποτ' εν χορειαις
Των παρθενων αυτον

Την μοι φιλην Κορινναν
Ως ειδεν, ως προς αυτην
Ηροσεδραμε τραχηλω
Διδυμας τε χειρας απτων
Φιλει με, μητερ, ειπε.
Καλουμενη Κοριννα
Μητηρ, ερυθριαζει,
Ως παρθενος μεν ουσα.
Κ' αυτος δε δυσχεραίνων,
“Ως ομμασι πλανηθεις,
Ερως ερυθριαζει.
Εγω δε οι παραστας,
Μη δυσχεραίνε, φημι.
Κυπριν τε και Κορινναν
Διαγνωσαι ουκ εχουσι

Και οι βλεποντες οξυ.
As dancing o'er the enamelled plain,
The floweret of the virgin train,
My soul's Corinna, lightly played,
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid;
He saw, and in a moment flew,
And round her neck his arms he threw;
And said, with snuiles of infant joy,
*Oh! kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy!"
Unconscious of a mother's name,
The modest virgin blushed with shame!
And angry Cupid, scarce believing
That vision could be so deceiving,
Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame,
The little infant blushed with shame.
* Be not ashamed, my boy,' I cried,
For I was lingering by his side;
"Corinna and thy lovely mother,
Believe me, are so like each other,
That clearest eyes are oft betrayed,

And take thy Venus for the maid."
Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has translated
this ode of Anacreon.


As lulled in slumber I was laid, IF hoarded gold possessed a power

Bright visions o'er my fancy played ! To lengthen life's too fleeting hour,

With virgins, blooming as the dawn, And purchase from the hand of death

I seemed to trace the opening lawn; A little span, a moment's breath,

Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew, How I would love the precious ore

We flew, and sported as we flew ! And every day should swell my store;

Some ruddy striplings, young and That when the Fates would send their

sleek, minion,

With blush of Bacchus on their cheek To waft me off on shadowy pinion,

Saw me trip the flowery wild I might some hours of life obtain, With dimpled girls, and slily smiled — And bribe him back to hell again.

Smiled indeed with wanton glee ; But, since we ne'er can charm away

But ah ! 'twas plain they envied me. The mandate of that awful day,

And still I flew—and now I caught Why do we vainly weep at fate,

The panting nymphs, and fondly And sigh for life's uncertain date?

thought The light of gold can ne'er illume

To kiss—when all my dream of joys, The dreary midnight of the tomb !

Dimpled girls and ruddy boys, And why should I then pant for trea- All were gone !* ., 'Alas!' I said, sares ?

Sighing for the illusions fled, Mine be the brilliant round of plea-Sleep! again my joys restore,

Oh ! let me dream them o'er and sures ; The goblet rich, the board of frienas,

o'er ! 5
Whose flowing souls the goblet blends :*
Mine be the nymph whose form reposes

Seductive on that bed of roses ;
And oh! be mine the soul's excess,

LET us drain the neclared bowl,
Expiring in her warm caress !

Let us raise the song of soul
To him, the god who loves so well
The nectared bowl, the choral swell!

Hini, who instructs the sons of earth

To thrid the tangled dance of mirth; 'Twas night, and many a circling bowl Him, who was nursed with infant Love, Had deeply warmed my swimming soul; And cradled in the Paphian grove ;

1 Fontenelle has translated this ode, in his illa me perditissima fæmina pene miserum perdidialogue between Anacreon and Aristotle in the dit cum sceleratissimo suo congerrone (Anacrewlie shades, where he bestows the prize of wisdom tem dico, si nescis Lector), noli sperara,' etc. etc. upon the poet.

He adduces on this ode the authority of Plato, ? This communion of friendship, which sweet- who allowed ebriety, at the Dionysian festivals, ened the bowl of Anacreon, has not been for- to men arrived at their fortieth year. He likegotten by the author of the following seholium, wise quotes the following line froin Alexis, which where the blessings of life are enumerated with he says no one, who is not totally ignorant of Toverbial simplicity:

the world, can hesitate to confess the truth of: i mortal blessings here, the first is health,

Ονδεις φιλοποτης εστιν ανθρωπος κακος. And next, those charms by which the eye we No lover of drinking was ever a vicious man.' move;

* Nonnus says of Bacchus, almost in the same The third is wealth anwounding.guiltless wealth, words that Ariacreon uses : And then, an intercoarse with those we love!

Εγρομενος δε 3 Compare with this ode the beautiful poem,

Παρθενoν ουκ εκιχησε, και ηθελεν αυθις ιαυειν. der Traum U2'--Degen. Le Fevre, in a note

Waking, he lost the phantom's charms, upon this odie, enters into an elaborate and

He found no beauty in his arms; learned justification of drunkenness; and this is

Again to slumber he essayed, probably the cause of the severe reprehension Again to clasp the shadowy maid ! which I believe he suffered for his Anacreon.

-Longepierre. * Fait olim fateor (says he, in a note upon Longi. 5 Doctor Johnson, in his preface to Shakspeare, Dus), cum Sapphonem amabam. Sed ex quo animadverting upon the commentators of that Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms To him, the god who loves so well Has fondled her twining arms. The nectared bowl, the choral swell ! From him that dream of transport

flows, Which sweet intoxication knows;

With him the brow forgets to darkle,

How I love the festive boy,
And brilliant graces learn to sparkle,
Behold ! my boys a goblet bear,

Tripping with the dance of joy!

How I love the inellow sage,
Whose sunny foam bedews the air.
Where are now the tear, the sigh?

Smiling through the veil of age !

And whene'er this man of years To the winds they fly, they fly! In the dance of joy appears, Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking,

Age is on his temples hung, Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking ! Ob! can the tears we lend to thought But his heart—his heart is young !? In life's account avail us aught? Can we discern, with all our lore,

ODE XL. The path we're yet to journey o'er ? No, no, the walk of life is dark, I KNOW that Heaven ordains me here "Tis wine alone can strike a spark !! To run this mortal life's career ; Then let me quaff the foamy tide, The scenes which I have journeyed And through the dance meandering o'er glide;

Return no more-alas ! no more ;
Let me imbibe the spicy breath And all the path I've yet to go
Of odours chafed to fragrant death : I neither know nor ask to know.
Or from the kiss of love inhale

Then surely, Care, thou canst not twine
A more voluptuous, richer gale ! Thy fetters round a soul like mine ;
To souls that court the phantom Care, No, no, the heart that feels with me
Let him retire and shroud him there ; Can never be a slave to thee !3
While we exhaust the nectared bowl, And oh ! before the vital thrill,
And swell the choral song of soul Which trembles at my heart, is still,

poet, who pretended in every little coincidence of thought to detect an imitation of some ancient poet, alludes in the following words to the line of Anacreon before us: 'I have been told that when Caliban, after a pleasing dream, says, " I tried to sleep again,” the author imitates Anacreon, who had, like any other man, the same wish on the same occasion.'

I The brevity of life allows arguments for the voluptuary as well as the moralist. Among many parallel passages which Longepierre has ad. duced, I shall content myself with this epigram from the Anthologia Λουσαμενοι, Προδικη, πυκασωμεθα, και τον ακ.

patov Ελκωμεν, κυλικας μειζονας αραμενοι. Ραιος ο χαιροντων εστι βιος. ειτα τα λοιπα

Γηρας κωλυσει, και το τελος θανατος.
or which the following is a loose paraphrase:

Fly, my beloved, to yonder stream,
We'll plunge us from the noontide beam!
Then cull the rose's humid bud,
And dip it in our goblet's flood.
Our age of bliss, my nymph, shall fly
As sweet, though passing, as that sigh
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip,
Come, while you may, of rapture sip.'

For age will steal the rosy form,
And chill the pulse, which trembles warm!
And death-alas! that hearts, which thrill
Like yours and mine, should e'er be still!

* Saint Pavin makes the same distinction in a sonnet to a young girl :

Je sais bien que les destinées
Ont mal compassé nos années ;
Ne regardez que mon amour.
Peut-être en serez vous émue :
Il est jeune, et n'est que du jour,

Belle iris, que je vous ai vue.
Fair and young thou bloomest now,

And I full many a year have told;
But read the heart and not the brow,

Thou shalt not tind my love is old.
My love's a child, and thou canst say

How much his little age may be,
For he was born the very day

That first I set my eyes on thee !
* Longepierre quotes an epigram here from the
Anthologia, on account of the similarity of a
particular phrase. It is by no mean: Anacreon.
tic, but has an interesting simplicity which in-
duced me to paraphrase it, and may atone for its
intrus on:

I'll gather joy's luxurious flowers, And, while she weaves a frontlet fair
And gild with bliss my fading hours ; Of hyacinth to deck my hair,
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, Oh ! let me snatch her sidelong kisses,
And Venus dance me to the tomb ! And that shall be my bliss of blisses !

My soul, to festive feeling true,

One pang of envy never knew;

and little has it learned to dread WHEN Spring begems the dewy scene, Away-I hate the slanderous dart,

The gall that Envy's tongue can shed. How sweet to walk the velvet green,

Which steals to wound the unwary And hear the Zephyr's languid sighs,

heart; As o'er the scented mead he fies!

And oh! I hate, with all my soul,
How sweet to mark the pouting vine,

Discordant clamours o'er the bowl,
Ready to fall in tears of wine;
And with the maid whose every sigh

Where every cordial heart should be,

Attuned to peace and harmony. Is love and bliss, entranced to lie?

Come, let us hear the soul of song Where the embowering branches

Expire the silver harp along : meet

And through the dance's ringlet move, Oh! is not this divinely sweet?

With maidens mellowing into love;
Thus simply happy, thus at peace,

Sure such a life should never cease !
YES, be the glorious revel mine,
Where humour sparkles from the wine !

Around me let the youthful choir
Respond to my beguiling lyre; While our rosy fillets shed
And while the red cup circles round,

Blushes o'er each fervid head,
Mingle in soul as well as sound ! With many a cup and many a smile
Let the bright nymph, with trembling The festal moments we beguile.

And while the harp, impassioned, flings eve, Beside me all in blushes lie;

Tuneful rapture from the strings,

At length to Fortune, and to you,

3 The character of Anacreon is here very Delusive Hope! a last adieu.

strikingly depicted. His love of social, harmó The charm that once beguiled is o'er,

nized pleasures is expressed with a warmth, amiAnd I have reached my destined shore !

able and endearing. Among the epigrams Away, away, your flattering arts

imputed to Anacreon is the following; it is the May now betray some simpler hearts,

only one worth translation, and it breathes the And you will smile at their believing, same sentiments with this ode: And they shall weep at your deceiving !

Ου φιλος, ος κρητηρι παρα πλεω οινοποταζων, 'The same commentator has quoted an epitaph,

Νεικεα και πολεμον δακρυοεντα λεγει. written upon our poet by Jalian, where he nakes | Αλλ' όστις Μονσεων τε, και αγλαα δωρ' Αφροδιτης him give the precepts of good fellowship even

Ευμμισγων, ερατης μνησκεται ευφροσυνης. from the tomb :

When to the lip the brimming cup is pressed, This lesson oft in life I sung,

And hearts are all atloat upon the stream, And from my grave I still shall cry,

Then banish from my board the unpolished guest,

Who makes the seats of war his barbarous * Drink, mortal! drink, while time is young, Ere death has made thee cold as I.'

theme. * Thus Horace:

But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes

The Muse's laurel with the Cyprian flower: Quid habes illius, illius

Oh! give me him whose heart expansive breathes Quæ spirabat amores,

All the refinements of the social hour. Qua me surpuerat mihi.

* On the barbiton a host of authorities may be And does there then remain but this collected, which, after all, leave us ignorant of

And hast thou lost each rosy ray the nature of the instrument. There is scarcely Of her, who breathed the soul of bliss, any point upon which we are so totally unin

And stole me from myself away? forined as the music of the ancients, The

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