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To man she gave the flame refined,
Still every year, and all the year, The spark of Heaven—a thinking mind!
A flight of loves engender here; And had she no surpassing treasure
And some their infant plumage try, For thee, oh woman! child of pleasure ?
And on a tender winglet fly; She gave thee beauty-shaft of eyes,
While in the shell, impregn'd with fires, That every shaft of war outflies !
Cluster a thousand more desires ; She gave thee beauty-blush of fire,
Some from their tiny prisons peeping, That bids the flames of war retire !
And some in formless embryo sleeping Woman! be fair, we must adore thee;
My bosom, like the vernal groves,
Resounds with little warbling loves;
Then twin-desires they wing together,
And still as they have learn'd to soar,
The wanton babies teem with more. ONCE in each revolving year,
But is there then no kindly art, Gentle bird ! we find thee here,
To chase these Cupids from my heart? When nature wears her summer-vest,
No, no! I fear, alas ! I fear
They will for ever nestle here !
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
"T was not the crested warrior's dart To man she gave the flame refined, The spark of Heaven-a thinking mind!] In my first
Which drank the current of my heart; attempt to translate this ode, I had interpreted porn see, with Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed, Baxter and Barnes, as implying courage and military virtue;
Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed; but I do not think that the gallantry of the idea suffers by the import which I have now given to it. For, why need
No—from an eye of liquid blue we consider this possession of wisdom as exclusive ? and in A host of quiver'd Cupids flew ; truth, as the design of Anacreon is to estimate the treasure of beauty, above all the rest which Nature has distributed,
And now my heart all bleeding lies
We read the flying courser's name
And oh ! 'tis plain where love has been; eye is the inlet to the wounds of love."
For still be leaves a wound behind,
Such as within my heart is seen.
Oh bird of Love! with song so drear, remark here is very ingenious : " The Romans," says he,
Make not my soul the nest of pain; “ were so convinced of the power of beauty, that they used Oh! let the wing which brought thee here, a word implying strength in the place of the epithet beauti
In pity waft thee hence again! ful. Thus Plautus, act 2, scene 2, Bacchid.
1 " The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. Com Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa.
pare also Weisse Scherz. Lieder. lib. iii. der Soldat."
Gail, Degen. 'Fortis, id est formosa,' say Servius and Nonius."
1 This is another ode addressed to the swallow. Alberti No-from an eye of liquid blue, bas imitated both in one poem, beginning
A host of quiver'd Cupids flew.) Longepierre has quoted
part of an epigram from the seventh book of the Antholo Perch' io pianga al tuo canto
gia, which has a fancy something like this: Rondinella importuna, etc.
Ου με λεληβας, , Alas! unlike the plumed loves,
Τοξοτα, Ζηνοφιλας ομμασι κρυπτομινος. That linger in this hapless breast,
Archer Love! though slily creeping, And never, never change their nest!) Thus Love is
Well I know where thou dost lie; represented as a bird, in an epigram cited by Longepierre from the Anthologia:
I saw thee through the curtain peeping,
That fringes Zenuphelia's eye.
The poets abound with conceits on the archery of the
eyes, but few have turned the thought so naturally as Ana. Ηδι που κραδι η γνωστος ενεστι τντος.
creon. Ronsard gives to the eyes of his mistress í un petit Ωστανοί, μη και σοτ' εφιπτασθαι μεν ερωτες
camp d'amours." Οιδατ', αποπτηναι δ' ουδ' οσον ισχνετε.
2 This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican "Tis Love that murmurs in my breast,
Ms. but I have conformed to the editions in translating And makes me shed the secret tear;
them separately Nor day nor night my beart has rest,
Compare with this (says Degen) the poem of Ramler For night and day his voice I hear
Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 313 2
And, by their turban'd brows alone,
That though they pass the breeze's flight,
My bolts are not so feathery light."
He took the shaft-and, oh! thy look,
Sweet Venus ! when the shaft he took.
“It is not light—I die with pain !
“No,” said the child," it must not be,
That little dart was made for thee !"
Yes-loving is a painful thrill,
And not to love, more painful still ;
Yes-loving is a painful lirill,
And not to love more painful still, etc.) Monsieur Once, to this Lemnian cave of flame,
Menage, in the following Anacreontic, enforces the pecer The crested Lord of Battles came;
sity of loving: 'T was from the ranks of war he rush'd,
Περι του δειν φιλησαι , His spear with many a life-drop blush'd !
Προς Πετρον Δανιηλα Ιιττον, . He saw the mystic darts, and smiled
Μεγε θαυμα των αοιδων Derision on the archer-child.
Χαριτων θαλος Ιιττε, ,
Φιλιωμεν, ω εταιρε. “ And dost thou smile ?” said little Love;
Ф.А.Ясау са тортті. “Take this dart, and thou may'st prove,
Φιλιησι σεμνος ανήρ,
Σοφιας πατηρ απασης.
Τι δ' ανευ γένοιτ' Ερωτος; The inlet to his bosom lies.] "We cannot see into the
Ακονη μεν εστι ψυχης. (α) heart," says Madame Dacier. But the lover answers
Πτερυγισσιν εις Ολυμπος
Bp do 5 TOTHY HSVOLG
Βίλσεσσι εξαγειρει, larging on the thought of Anacreon:
Πυρι λαμπαδος φαινω
Ρυπαρότερους καθαιρει. ,
Φιλεω μεν ουν, YETTE,
Φιλιωμεν, ω εταιρε.
Αδικως δε λοιδορουντι
Αγιους ερωτας καιμων
Κακον ευξομαι το μουνον
Iv* rem duxit' XBvog
PAESI TI *** Quluris'
TO PETER DANIEL HUETT.
Thou! of tuneful bards the first,
Thou! by all the Graces nursed;
Friend ! each other friend above, 1 This ode is referred to by La Mothe le Vayer, who, I
Come with me, and learn to love. believe, was the author of that curious little work, called
Loving is a simple lore, “Hexameron Rustique.” He makes use of this, as well as
Graver men have learn'd before ; the thirty-fifth, in his ingenious but indelicate explanation of
Nay, the boast of former ages, Homer's Cave of the Nymphs. Journée Quatrième.
Wisest of the wisest sages, And Love (alas! the victim heart)
Sophroniscus' prudent son,
Was by Love's illusion won.
Oh! how beavy life would move,
If we knew not how to love!
Love's a whetstone to the mind;
Thug 'tis pointed, thus refined,
When the soul dejected lies, And one with honey flows, and one with gall;
Love can waft it to the skies; In these, if we may take the tale from fame,
When in languor sleeps the heart, The son of Venus dips his darts of flame.
Love can wake it with his dart;
When the mind is dull and dark, See the ninety-first emblem of Alciatus, on the close con
Love can light it with his spark! Dexion which subsists between sweets and bitterness." Apes
Come, oh! come then, let us hasto ideo pungunt (says Petronius) quia ubi dulce, ibi et acidum
All the bliss of love to taste; invenies.
Let us love both night and day, The allegorical description of Cupid's employment, in
Let us love our lives away! Horace, may vie with this before us in fancy, though not
And when hearts, from loving free in delicacy:
(If indeed such hearts there bor) ferus et Cupido
Frown upon our gentle flame,
And the sweet delusiou blame;
(a) This line is borrowed from an epigram by Alpheus Upon a whetstone stain'd with blood of bearts. of Mitylene. Secundus has borrowed this, but has somewhat softened
-ψυχης οστιν Ερως ακονη. . the image by the omission of the epithet “cruenta."
Menage, I think, says somewhere, that he was the first who Fallor an ardentos acuebat cote sagittas. Eleg. 1. produced this epigram to the world.
But surely 'tis the worst of pain,
Cupid bade me wing my pace, To love and not be loved again!
And try with him the rapid race. Affection now has fled from earth,
O'er the wild torrent, rude and deep, Nor fire of genius, light of birth,
By tangled brake and pendent steep, Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile
With weary foot I panting flew, From Beauty's cheek one favouring smile.
My brow was chill with drops of dew Gold is the woman's only theme,
And now my soul, exhausted, dying, Gold is the woman's only dream.
To my lip was faintly flying; Oh! never be that wretch forgiven
And now I thought the spark had fled, Forgive him not, indignant Heaven !
When Cupid hover'd o'er my head, Whose grovelling eyes could first adore,
And, fanning light his breezy plume, Whose heart could pant for sordid ore.
Recall'd me from my languid gloom ; Since that devoted thirst began,
Then said, in accents half-reproving,
" Why hast thou been a foe to loving ?"
STREw me a breathing bed of leaves
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves ;
Pænitet; et pudor est stare via media.
Ecce tacent voces hominum, strepitusque ferarum,
Et volucrum cantus, turbaque fida canum.
Solus ego ex cunctis paveo somnumque torumque, "T was in an airy dream of night,
Et sequor imperium, sæve Cupido, luum. I fancied that I wing'd my flight
Upon my couch I lay, at night profound, On pinions fleeter than the wind,
My languid eyes in magic slumber bound, While little Love, whose feet were twined
When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my bed,
And forced me many a weary way to tread. (I know not why) with chains of lead,
"What! (said the god) shall you, whose vows are known, Pursued me as I trembling fled ;
Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone ?" Pursued-and could I e'er have thought ?
I rise and follow; all the night I stray,
Unsbelter'd, trembling, doubtful of my way. Swift as the moment I was caught!
Tracing with naked foot the painful track, What does the wanton Fancy mean
Loth to proceed, yet fearful to go back.
Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd, By such a strange, illusive scene?
Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks are heard; I fear she whispers to my breast,
I, I alone, a fugitive from rest, That you, my girl, have stolen my rest ;
Passion my guide, and madness in my breast,
Wander the world around, unknowing where, That though my fancy, for a while,
The slave of love, the victim of despair! Has hung on many a woman's smile,
My brow was chill with drops of dew.) I have followed I soon dissolved the passing vow,
those who read topov odpws for a spev ud pos; the former is And ne'er was caught by Love till now! partly authorized by the MS. which reads arsopiv o&pw6.
And now my soul, erhausted, dying,
To my lip was faintly flying, etc.)' In the original, he
says his heart flew to his nose; but our manner more natuODE XXXI.
rally transfers it to the lips. Such is the effect that Plate tells us he felt from a kiss, in a distich, quoted by Aulus
Την ψυχην, Αγαθωνα φιλων, επι χειλεσιν ισχoν
Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip,
And drink ihy breath, in melting twine,
My soul then flutters to my lip,
Ready to fly and mix with thine.
Aulus Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this epigram, in 1 Barnes imagines from this allegory, that our poet mar which we find many of those mignardises of expression, ried very late in life. I do not perceive any thing in the ode which mark the effemination of the Latin language. which seems to allude to matrimony, except it be the lead upon the feet of Cupid ; and I must confess that I agree in And, fanning light his breczy plume, the opinion of Madame Dacier, in her life of the poet, that Recalld me from my languid gloom.) “The facility he was always too fond of pleasure to marry.
with which Cupid recovers him, signifies that the sweets of 2 The design of this little fiction is to intimate, that much love make us easily forget any solicitudes which he may oc
casion."-La Fosse. greater pain attends insensibility than can ever result from the tenderest impressions of love. Longepierre has quoted
1 We here have the poet, in his true attributes, reclining an ancient epigram (I do not know where he found it,) upon myriles, with Cupid for his cup-bearer. Some interwhich has some similitude to this ode:
preters have ruined the picture by making Epios the name
of his slave. None but love should fill the goblet of AnaLecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis
creon. Sappho has assigned this office to Venus, in a fragCarpebam, et somno lumina victa dabam;
ment. Ελβε, Κυ τρι, χρυσι αισιν εν κυλικεσσιν αύροις συμ. Cum me savus Amor prensum, sursumque capillis
μεμιγμενον θαλ, αισι v8κταρ οινοχόουσα
τούτοισι τοις Excitat, et lacerum pervigilare jubet.
εταιροις ιμoίς γε και σοις. ru famulus meus, inquit, ames cum mille puellas,
Which may be thus paraphrased :
Hither, Venus! queen of kisses,
This shall be the night of blisses !
And, while in luxury's dream I sink,
“O gentle sire!" the infant said, Let me the balm of Bacchus drink !
In pity take me to thy shed; In this delicious hour of joy,
Nor fear deceit: a lonely child Young Love shall be my goblet-boy;
I wander o'er the gloomy wild. Folding his little golden vest,
Chill drops the rain, and not a ray With cinctures, round his snowy breast,
Illumes the drear and misty way!" Himself shall hover by my side,
I hear the baby's tale of woe; And minister the racy tide!
I hear the bitter night-winds blow; Swift as the wheels that kindling roll,
And, sighing for his piteous fate, Our life is hurrying to the goal :
I trimm'd my lamp, and oped the gate. A scanty dust to feed the wind,
'T was Love! the little wandering sprite, Is all the trace 't will leave behind.
His pinion sparkled through the night! Why do we shed the rose's bloom
I knew him by his bow and dart; Upon the cold, insensate tomb !
I knew him by my fluttering heart! Can flowery breeze, or odour's breath,
I take him in, and fondly raise Affect the slumbering chill of death?
The dying embers' cheering blaze ; No, no; I ask no balm to steep
Press from his dank and clinging hair With fragrant tears my bed of sleep:
The crystals of the freezing air, But now, while every pulse is glowing,
And in my hand and bosom hold Now let me breathe the balsam flowing;
His little fingers thrilling cold. Now let the rose with blush of fire,
And now the embers' genial ray Upon my brow its scent expire ;
Had warm'd his anxious fears away; And bring the nymph with floating eye,
“ I pray thee," said the wanton child Oh! she will teach me how to die !
(My bosom trembled as he smiled.) Yes, Cupid ! ere my soul retire,
“ I pray thee let me try my bow, To join the blest Elysian choir,
For through the rain I've wander'd so, With wine, and love, and blisses dear,
That much I fear the ceaseless shower
Has injured its elastic power."
Oh! swift it flew as glancing flame,
And to my very soul it came !
“ Fare thee well," I heard him say, ”T was noon of night, when round the pole
As laughing wild he wing'd away; The sullen Bear is seen to roll ;
“Fare thee well, for now I know And mortals, wearied with the day,
The rain has not relax'd my bow;
It still can send a maddening dart,
As thou shalt own with all thy heart!
ODE XXXIV.' ** That bid'st my blissful visions fly ?"
Ou thou, of all creation blest,
Sweet insect! that delight'st to rest
Upon the wild wood's leafy tops,
To drink the dew that morning drops,
And chirp thy song with such a glee,
That happiest kings may envy thee!
'Twas Love! the litile u andering sprite, etc.) See the Not a soul that is not mine!
beautiful description of Cupid, by Muschus, in bis first idy' Not a soul that is not thine!
1 Father Rapin, in a Latin ode addressed to the grasshop "Compare with this ode (says the German commentator) per, has preserved some of tho thoughts of our autbus: the beautiful poem in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p.
O que virenti graminis in toro, 296. Amor als Diener.'
Cicada, blande sidis, et herbido:
Saltus oberras, otiosos 1 Monsieur Bernarde, the author of l'Art d'aimer, has
Ingeniosa ciere cantus. written a ballet called "Les Surprises de l'Amour," in
Seu forte adultis florbus incubas, wbich the subject of the third entrée is Anacreon, and the
Coli caducis ebria fletibus, ele
Oh thou, that on the grassy bed
Reclinest soft, and tunest thy song, die Heilung. La Fontaine has translated, or rather imitated,
The dewy herbs and leaves among!
Whether thou licet ou springing flowers, this ode.
Drunk with the balmy morning showers, " And who are thou," I waking cry,
Or, etc. " That bid'st my blissful visions Ay?! Anacreon ap- See what Licetus says about grasshoppers, cap. 93 and 185 pears to have been a voluptuary oven in dreaming, by the lively regret which he expressos at being disturbed from his And chirp thy song with such a glee, etc.) "Some authors visionary onjoyments. See the odes x. and xxxvii. have affirmed (says Madame Dacier,) that it is only male Whatever decks the velvet field,
Luckless urchin not to see Whate'er the circling seasons yield,
Within the leaves a slumbering bee ! Whatever buds, whatever blows,
The bee awaked-with anger wild For thee it buds, for thee it grows.
The bee awaked and stung the child. Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear,
Loud and piteous are his cries; To him thy friendly notes are dear;
To Venus quick he runs, he flies ! For thou art mild as matin dew,
“Oh mother!-I am wounded through And still, when summer's flowery hue
I die with pain-in sooth I do! Begins to paint the bloomy plain,
Stung by some little angry thing, We hear thy sweet prophetic strain ;
Some serpent on a tiny wingThy sweet prophetic strain we hear,
A bee it was—for once, I know, And bless the notes and thee revere!
I heard a rustic call it so." The Muses love thy shrilly tone;
Thus he spoke, and she the while Apollo calls thee all his own;
Heard him with a soothing smile; 'T was he who gave that voice to thee,
Then said, "My infant, if so much "T is he who tunes thy minstrelsy.
Thou feel the little wild bee's touch, Unworn by age's dim decline,
How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be,
The hapless heart that 's stung by thee !"
If hoarded gold possess'd a power
To lengthen life's too fleeting hour,
creon, where Love complains to his mother of being wound-
The ode before us is the very flower of simplicity. The
infantine complainings of the little god, and the natural and ODE XXXV.
impressive reflections which they draw from Venus, are
beauties of inimitable grace. I hope I shall be pardoned for CUPID once upon a bed
introducing another Greek Anacreontic of Monsienr Men
age, not for its similitude to the subject of this ode, but for Of roses laid his weary head;
some faint traces of this nasural simplicity wbick it appears
to me to have preserved: grasshoppers which sing, and that the females are silent;
Epws 101' xv 20051215 and on this circumstance is founded a bon-mot of Xenarchus,
Των παρθεναν απο τον the comic poet, who says ειτ' εισιν οι τιττιγες ουκ ευδαι
Την μοι φιλην Κορινναν μονες, αν ταις γυναιξιν ουδ' οτι συν φωνης ενι; * are not the
Ως ειδε, ως προς αυτην grasshoppers happy in having dumb wives ?!” This note is
II poo: dps• Tp*%ņi.com originally Henry Stephen's; but I chose rather to make
Δίδυμας τε χε «ρας επτων Madame Dacier my authority for it.
@1.6 MB, hentep, 11.
Καλούμενη Κοριννα The Muses love thy shrilly tone, etc.) Phile, de Animal.
Μητηρ, ερυθριαζει, Proprietat. calls this insect Mouraos 4.205, the darling of the
Ως ταρδινος μεν ουσα. . Muses; and Moutan opvov, the bird of the Muses; and we
κ' αυτος δε δυσχεραίνων, find Plato compared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, in
Ως ομμασι πλανηθείς, the following punning lines of Timon, preserved by Dioge
Ερως ερυθριαζε. nes Laertius :
Ey» ds or **P297%5, Τον ταντων δ' εγιιτο ελατοστατος, αλλ' αγορητης
Μη δυσχεραίνε, φημι. Ηδυοπης τεττιξιν ισογραφος, οι δ' εκαδη μου
Χυπριν τι και Κορινναν Δινδρεας εφιζομενοι οπα λειριοεσσαν εισι.
Διαγνωσαι ουκ εχουσι
Και οι βλεποντες οξν. This last line is borrowed from Homer's Iliad, a. where there occurs the very same simile.
As dancing o'er the enameli'd plain,
The flow'ret of the virgin train, Melodious insect! child of earth!) Longepierre has
My soul's Corinna, lightly play'd, quoted the two first lines of an epigrain of Antipater, from
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid, the first book of the Anthologia, where he prefers the
He saw, and in a moment flow, grasshopper to the swan:
And round her neck his arms he threw;
And said, with smiles of infant joy,
"Oh! kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy!"
Unconscious of a mother's name,
The modest virgin blush'd with shame :
And angry Cupid, scarce believing
That vision could be so deceiving,
Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame, 1 Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his nine
The little infant blush'd with shame. teenth idyl, but is very inferior, I think, to his original, in "Be not ashamed, my boy," I cried, delicacy of point, and naivete of expression. Spenser in For I was lingering by his side; one of his smaller compositions, has sported more diffusely “Corinna and thy lovely mother, on the same subject. The poem to which I alludo begins Believe me, are so like cach other, thus:
That clearest eyes are oft betray'd, Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering
And take thy Venus for the maid." 'All in his mother's lap;
Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has translated this ode A gentle bee, with his loud trumpet murmuring,
of Anacreon. About him flew by hap, etc.
1 Monsieur Fontenelle has translated this ode, in his diaIn Almeloveen's collection of epigrams, there is one by logue between Anacreon and Aristotle in the shades, where Luxorius, correspondent somewhat with the turn of Ana- The bestows the prize of wisdom upon the poet.