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" Thee Phæbus loves, and does inspire;
“ Phoebus is himself thy sire.
“ To thee, of all things upon earth,
“ Life is no longer than thy mirth.
“Happy insect, happy thou,
“ Dost neither age nor winter know.
“ But when thou'st drunk, and danc'd, and sung

Thy fill, the flow'ry leaves among,

(Voluptuous, and wise with all,
“Epicurcan animal !)
“ Sated with thy summer feast,
“ Thou retir'st to endless rest."

In this ode

Ολιγην δροσον πεπωκως, is beautifully translated

« Fed with nourishment divine,
“ The dewy morning's gentle wine."

θερεος γλυκυς προφήτης
is almost literally, but excellently given-

Prophet of the ripened year."
“ Farmer he, and landlord thou,"

is in the peculiarly playful stile of Cowley.

Horace has also many odes of the gay and sprightly kind, of great beauty and excellence; but in no language whatever are so many to be

found as in our own. With us they have been distinguished from the first by the name of SONGS, as most of them have been set and sung to music. Dr. Aikin, in an excellent collection which he has made, and which is preceded by a judicious essay on song-writing, has classed them under the following heads : 1st. Ballads and pastoral songs; 2d. Passionate and descriptive songs; 3d. Ingenious and witty songs. To this arrangement I do not mean to object; yet it appears to me that another class might be added-Patriotic and war songs, such as the celebrated Greek odes of Alcæus and Tyrtæus, which inspired their heroic countrymen with the spirit of liberty and the ardour of patriotism.

The English ballad will scarcely rank under the description of lyric poetry; and I place it here rather because I know not where else to assign it a station, than from any sense of the propriety of the collocation. An elegant poetess of the present time, who was so kind as to write the article Poetry for my Dictionary, has furnished us with the real origin of our ballad. “ In the age of Charlemagne, the minstrels of Provence, or, as they were called, the troubaa

dours, introduced the metrical tales or ballads, which, from the dialect in which they were written, were called also romances. Their

poems were all written in rhyme; but whether this practice was borrowed from the Goths or Arabs is uncertain.” But though the first ballads might have for their subjects tales, or simple narratives, such as Chevy Chace, the Children in the Wood, &c., yet we find the term was soon extended to various subjects of love or morals. The ballad of “ Death and the Lady," which yet occupies a place in the chimney of many a farm-house, is a moral dialogue. Dr. Aikin has therefore, with propriety, classed among the ballads the popular songs of Mr. Gay, which are real lyrics, and of which Blackeyed Susan is perhaps the best. The little songs in our comic operas have as much a claim to the title of lyrio as the choruses in the Greek tragedies, and indeed are more naturally introduced, for singing corresponds better with a representation of joy than of sorrow.

Of “ Passionate and descriptive songs,” the number is very great in our language, as you will see in Dr. Aikin's collection, and yet this does not include the whole, Amidst such an assemblage of beauties, it is difficult to select; and if I followed the dictates of my own taste, the mere catalogue would fill a page. I will however mention Thomson's “ For ever Fortune," Littleton's “ Heavy Hours,” Percy's " () Nancy," and the well-known ballad of “ Old Darby and Joan," as extremely beautiful.

Our witty songs form a class not less numerous than the preceding. The following is exquisitely witty

" The women all tell me I'm false to my lass, " That I quit iny dear Chloe, and stick to my glass : " But to you men of reason, my reasons I'll own; “ And if you don't like them, why, let them alone.

“ Altho' I have left her, the truth I'll declare, “ I believe she was good, and I'm sure she is fair; “ But goodness and charms in a bumper I see, • That make it as good and as charming as she.

My Chloe had dimples and smiles I must own,
“ But tho' she could smile, yet in truth she could frown.
“ Now tell me, ye lovers of liquor divine,
“ Did you e'er see a frown in a bumper of wine?

“ Her lilies and roses were just in their prime,
* Yet lilies and roses are conquer'd by tiine;
" But in wine from its age such a benefit flows,
* That we like it the better the older it grow).

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• They tell me my love would in time have been

cloy'd, “ And that beauty's insipid when once 'tis enjoy'd;

But in wine I both time and enjoyment defy, “ For the longer I drink, the more thirsty am I.

- Let murders, and battles, and history prove “ The mischiefs that wait upon rivals in love: “ But in drinking, thank heaven, no rival contends, For the more we love liquor, the more we are friends.

“ She too might have poison'd the joy of my life, " With nurses, and babies, and squalling and strife: “ But my wine neither nurses nor babies can bring, “ And a big-belly'd bottle's a mighty good thing.

• We shorten our days when with love we engage ; " It brings on diseases, and hastens old age: “But wine from grim death can its votaries save, " And keep t'other leg out, when there's one in the

grave.

Perhaps, like her sex, ever false to their word, “ She had left me—to get an estate, or a lord: “ But my bumper, regarding nor title, nor pelf, “ Will stand by me when I can't stand by myself.

Then let my dear Chloe no longer complain; " She's rid of her lover, and I of my pain; “For in wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy: “ Should you doubt wliat I say,-take a bumper and

try.”

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