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And purchase from the hand of death
A little span, a moment's breath,
How I would love the precious ore!
And every day should swell my store;

That when the Fates would send their minion,
To waft me off on shadowy pinion,

I might some hours of life obtain,
And bribe him back to hell again.
But, since we ne'er can charm away
The mandate of that awful day,
Why do we vainly weep at fate,
And sigh for life's uncertain date?
The light of gold can ne'er illume
The dreary midnight of the tomb !
And why should I then pant for treasures?
Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures;
The goblet rich, the board of friends,
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,
Expiring in her warm caress!

As lull'd in slumber I was laid,
Bright visions o'er my fancy play'd!
With virgins, blooming as the dawn,
I seem'd to trace the opening lawn;
Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew,
We flew, and sported as we flew !
Some ruddy striplings, young and sleek,
With blush of Bacchus on their cheek,
Saw me trip the flowery wild
With dimpled girls, and slyly smiled-
Smiled indeed with wanton glee;
But ah! 't was plain they envied me.
And still I flew-and now I caught
The panting nymphs, and fondly thought
To kiss-when all my dream of joys,
Dimpled girls and ruddy boys,

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All were gone! "Alas!" I said,

Sighing for the illusions fled,

Sleep! again my joys restore,

Oh! let me dream them o'er and o'er !"


"T WAS night, and many a circling bowl Had deeply warm'd my swimming soul;

"The German imitators of it are, Lessing, in his poem 'Gestern Brüder, etc.' Gleim, in the ode An den Tod,' and Schmidt in der Poet. Blumenl. Gotting. 1783, p. 7."Degen.

That when the Fates would send their minion,

To waft me off on shadowy pinion, etc.] The commentators, who are so fond of disputing "de lana caprina," have been very busy on the authority of the phrase ' av baverv επελθη. The reading of ev' αν Θάνατος επιλέη, which De Medenbach proposes in his Amanitates Litterariæ, was already hinted by Le Fevre, who seldom suggests any thing worth notice.

The goblet rich, the board of friends,

Whose flowing souls the goblet blends!] This communion of friendship, which sweetened the bowl of Anacreon, has not been forgotten by the author of the following scholium, where the blessings of life are enumerated with proverbial simplicity. Υγιαίνειν μεν αριστον ανδρι θνητω. Δεύτερον δε, καλόν φυήν γενεσθαι. Το τρίτον δε, πλουτειν αδόλως. Και το τέταρτον, συνήξαν μετά των φίλων.

Of mortal blessings here, the first is health,

And next, those charms by which the eye we move; The third is wealth, unwounding, guiltless wealth, And then, an intercourse with those we love!

1 "Compare with this ode the beautiful poem, 'der Traum of Üz.'"-Degen.

Monsieur Le Fevre, in a note upon this ode, enters into an elaborate and learned justification of drunkenness; and


LET us drain the nectar'd bowl,

Let us raise the

song of soul
To him, the god who loves so well
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell!
Him, who instructs the sons of earth
To thrid the tangled dance of mirth;
Him, who was nursed with infant Love,
And cradled in the Paphian grove;
Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms
Has fondled in her twining arms.
From him that dream of transport flows,
Which sweet intoxication knows;
With him the brow forgets to darkle,
And brilliant graces learn to sparkle.
Behold! my boys a goblet bear,
Whose sunny foam bedews the air.
Where are now the tear, the sigh?
To the winds they fly, they fly!
Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking,
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking!

Εγρόμενος δε

Παρθενον ουχ' επίχησε, και ηθελεν αυθις εαυεν.
Waking, he lost the phantom's charms,
He found no beauty in his arms;

Again to slumber he essay'd,

Again to clasp the shadowy maid! Longepierre. "Sleep! again my joys restore,

this is probably the cause of the severe reprehension which Oh! let me dream them o'er and o'er!] Doctor Johnson, I believe he suffered for his Anacreon. Fuit olim fateor in his preface to Shakspeare, animadverting upon the com (says he, in a note upon Longinus,) cum Sapphonem ama-mentators of that poet, who pretended, in every little coinci bam. Sed ex quo illa me perditissima fœmina pene miserum dence of thought, to detect an imitation of some ancient perdidit cum sceleratissimo suo congerrone (Anacreontem poet, alludes in the following words to the line of Anacreon dico, si nescis Lector,) noli sperare," etc. etc. He adduces on this ode the authority of Plato, who allowed ebriety, at the Dionysian festivals, to men arrived at their fortieth year. He likewise quotes the following line from Alexis, which he says no one, who is not totally ignorant of the world, can hesitate to confess the truth of:

Ουδείς φιλοπότης εστιν ανθρωπος κακος. "No lover of drinking was ever a vicious man."

-when all my dream of joys,

Dimpled girls and ruddy boys,

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."

1 "Compare with this beautiful ode the verses of Hagedorn, lib. v. das Gesellschaftliche; and of Bürger, p. 51," etc. etc.-Degen.

Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms

Has fondled in her twining arms.] Robertellus, upon the epithalamium of Catullus, mentions an ingenious aerivation of Cytherea, the name of Venus, apa TO XUBLIN TOUg

All were gone! Nonnus says of Bacchus, almost in the paras, which seems to hint that "Love's fairy favours are

same words that Anacreon uses,

lost, when not concealed."

Oh! can the tears we lend to thought
In life's account avail us aught?
Can we discern, with all our lore,
The path we're yet to journey o'er?
No, no, the walk of life is dark,
"T is wine alone can strike a spark!
Then let me quaff the foamy tide,

And through the dance meandering glide;
Let me imbibe the spicy breath
Of odours chafed to fragrant death;
Or from the kiss of love inhale
A more voluptuous, richer gale!

To souls that court the phantom Care,
Let him retire and shroud him there;
While we exhaust the nectar'd bowl,
And swell the choral song of soul
To him, the God who loves so well
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell!


I KNOW that Heaven ordains me here
To run this mortal life's career;

The scenes which I have journey'd o'er
Return no more-alas! no more;
And all the path I've yet to go

I neither know nor ask to know.

Then surely, Care, thou canst not twine
Thy fetters round a soul like mine;
No, no, the heart that feels with me
Can never be a slave to thee!
And oh! before the vital thrill,
Which trembles at my heart, is still,
I'll gather joy's luxurious flowers,
And gild with bliss my fading hours;
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom,
And Venus dance me to the tomb!


How I love the festive boy,
Tripping with the dance of joy!
How I love the mellow sage,
Smiling through the veil of age!
And whene'er this man of years
In the dance of joy appears,
Age is on his temples hung,

But his heart-his heart is young!

No, no, the walk of life is dark,

'Tis wine alone can strike a spark!] The brevity of life allows arguments for the voluptuary as well as the moralist. Among many parallel passages which Longepierre bas adduced, I shall content myself with this epigram from the Anthologia:

Λουσάμενοι, Προδική, πυκασωμεθα, και τον ακρατο
Ελκωμεν, κυλικας μείζονας αραμένοι.
Ραιος ο χαίροντων εστι βιος, είτα τα λοιπα
Γηρας κωλύσει, και το τέλος θάνατος.

Of 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!

Age is on his temples hung,

But his heart-his heart is young!] 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 find 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!


WHEN Spring begems the dewy scene,
How sweet to walk the velvet green,
And hear the Zephyr's languid sighs,
As o'er the scented mead he flies!
How sweet to mark the pouting vine,
Ready to fall in tears of wine;
And with the maid whose every sigh
Is love and bliss, entranced to lie
Where the embowering branches meet-
Oh! is not this divinely sweet?

No, no, the heart that feels with me,

Can never be a slave to thee!] Longepierre quotes an epigram here from the Anthologia, on account of the similarity of a particular phrase; it is by no means anacreontic, but has an interesting simplicity which induced me to paraphase it, and may atone for its intrusion.

Ελπις, και συ, τυχή, μεγα χαιρετε. τον λιμον" εύρον.
Ουδεν έμοι χ' υμιν, παίζετε τους μετ' εμέ.

At length to Fortune, and to you,
Delusive Hope! a last adieu.
The charm that once beguiled is o'er,
And I have reach'd my destined shore!

Away, away, your flattering arts

May now betray some simpler hearts,
And you will smile at their believing,

And they shall weep at your deceiving!

Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom,

And Venus dance me to the tomb!] The same commentator has quoted an epitaph, written upon our poet by Julian where he makes him give the precepts of good-fellowship from the tomb.


Πολλακι μεν τοδ' αείσα, και εκ τύμβου δε βοήσω Πίνετε, πριν ταυτην αμφιβαλησθε κονιν.

This lesson oft in life I sung,

And from my grave I still shall cry,
"Drink, mortal! drink, while time is young,
Ere death has made thee cold as I."

And with the maid, whose every sigh
Is love and bliss, etc.] Thus Horace:
Quid habes illius, illius
Quæ spirabat amores,
Quæ me surpuerat mihi.

And does there then remain but this,
And hast thou lost each rosy ray
Of her, who breathed the soul of blies,
And stole me from myself away?


YES, be the glorious revel mine,
Where humour sparkles from the wine!
Around me let the youthful choir
Respond to my beguiling lyre;

And while the red cup circles round,
Mingle in soul as well as sound!

Let the bright nymph, with trembling eye,
Beside me all in blushes lie;

And, while she weaves a frontlet fair
Of hyacinth to deck my hair,

Oh! let me snatch her sidelong kisses,
And that shall be my bliss of blisses!
My soul, to festive feeling true,
One pang of envy never knew;

And little has it learn'd to dread

The gall that Envy's tongue can shed.
Away-I hate the slanderous dart,
Which steals to wound the unwary heart;
And oh! I hate, with all my soul,
Discordant clamours o'er the bowl,
Where every cordial heart should be
Attuned to peace and harmony.
Come, let us hear the soul of song
Expire the silver harp along :

And through the dance's ringlet move,
With maidens mellowing into love;
Thus simply happy, thus at peace,
Sure such a life should never cease!


WHILE Our rosy fillets shed
Blushes o'er each fervid head,
With many a cup and many a smile
The festal moments we beguile.
And while the harp, impassion'd, flings
Tuneful rapture from the strings,

1 The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly depicted. His love of social, harmonized pleasures is expressed with a warmth, amiable and endearing. Among the epigrams imputed to Anacreon is the following; it is the only one worth translation, and it breathes the same sentiments with this ode:

Ου φίλος, ος κρητήρι παρα πλέω οινοποτάζων,
Νοίκια και πολέμου δακρυούντα λέγει.

Αλλ' οστις Μουσεων τε, και αγλαά δώρ Αφροδίτης
Ευμμισγών, ερατης μνήσκεται ευφροσύνης.

When to the lip the brimming cup is press'd,

And hearts are all afloat upon the stream,
Then banish from my board the unpolish'd guest
Who makes the feats of war his barbarous theme.

But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes
The Muse's laurel with the Cyprian flower:
Oh give me him whose heart expansive breathes
All the refinements of the social hour.

Some airy nymph, with fluent limbs,
Through the dance luxuriant swims,
Waving, in her snowy hand,
The leafy Bacchanalian wand,
Which, as the tripping wanton flies,
Shakes its tresses to her sighs!

A youth, the while, with loosen'd hair
Floating on the listless air,

Sings, to the wild harp's tender tone,
A tale of woes, alas! his own;
And then, what nectar in his sigh.
As o'er his lip the murmurs die
Surely never yet has been
So divine, so blest a scene!
Has Cupid left the starry sphere,
To wave his golden tresses here?
Oh yes! and Venus, queen of wiles,
And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles,
All, all are here, to hail with me
The Genius of Festivity!


BUDS of roses, virgin flowers,
Cull'd from Cupid's balmy bowers,
In the bowl of Bacchus steep,
Till with crimson drops they weep!
Twine the rose, the garland twine,
Every leaf distilling wine;

melody; for this is a nicety of progression of which modern music is not susceptible.

The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenæus, attributed to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it is called T εύρημα του Ανακρέοντος. Neanthes of Cyzicus, as quoted by Gyraldus, asserts the same. Vide Chabot. in Horat on the words "Lesboum barbiton," in the first ode.

And then, what nectar in his sigh,

As o'er his lip the murmurs die!] Longepierre has quoted here an epigram from the Anthologia:

Κούρη τις μ' εφίλησε ποθέσπερα χείλεσιν υγρους. Νεκταρ την το φίλημα, το γαρ στομα νεκταρος επνει Νυν μεθυω το φίλημα, πολύν τον έρωτα ποπωιωή, Of which the following may give some idea:

The kiss that she left on my lip
Like a dew-drop shall lingering lie;
"Twas nectar she gave me to sip,
'Twas nectar I drank in her sigh!
The dew that distill'd in that kiss,
To my soul was voluptuous wine;
Ever since it is drunk with the bliss,
And feels a delirium divine!

Has Cupid left the starry sphere,

To wave his golden tresses here?] The introduction of these deities to the festival is merely allegorical. Madame Dacier thinks that the poet describes a masquerade, where these deities were personated by the company in masks. The translation will conform with either idea.

All, all here, to hail with me

The Genius of Festivity!] Kos, the deity or genius of mirth. Philostratus, in the third of his pictures (as all the annotators have observed) gives a very beautiful description of this god.

And while the harp, impassion'd, flings Tuneful rapture from the strings, etc.] On the barbiton a host of authorities may be collected, which, after all, leave 1 This spirited poem is an eulogy on the rose; and again, us ignorant of the nature of the instrument. There is in the fifty-fifth ode, we shall find our author rich in the scarcely any point upon which we are so totally uninform- praises of that flower. In a fragment of Sappho, in the ed as the music of the ancients. The authors (a) extant romance of Achilles Tatius, to which Barnes refers us, the upon the subject are, I imagine, little understood; but cer- rose is very elegantly styled "the eye of flowers;" and the tainly if one of their moods was a progression by quarter-same poetess, in another fragment, calls the favours of the tones, which we are told was the nature of the enharmonic Muse "the roses of Pieria." See the notes on the fiftyscale, simplicity was by no means the characteristic of their fifth ode.

(a) Collected by Meibomius.

"Compare with this forty-fourth ode (says the German annotator) the beautiful ode of Uz, die Rose."

Drink and smile, and learn to think
That we were born to smile and drink.
Rose! thou art the sweetest flower
That ever drank the amber shower;
Rose! thou art the fondest child

Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild!
Even the gods, who walk the sky,
Are amorous of thy scented sigh.
Cupid too, in Paphian shades,
His hair with rosy fillet braids,
When, with the blushing naked Graces,
The wanton winding dance he traces.
Then bring me showers of roses, bring,
And shed them round me while I sing;
Great Bacchus! in thy hallow'd shade,
With some celestial, glowing maid,
While gales of roses round me rise,
In perfume sweeten'd by her sighs,
I'll bill and twine in early dance,
Commingling soul with every glance!

While virgin Graces, warm with May,
Fling roses o'er her dewy way!
The murmuring billows of the deep
Have languish'd into silent sleep;
And mark! the flitting sea-birds lave
Their plumes in the reflecting wave;
While cranes from hoary winter fly
To flutter in a kinder sky.
Now the genial star of day
Dissolves the murky clouds away;
And cultured field, and winding stream,
Are sweetly tissued by his beam.
Now the earth prolific swells
With leafy buds and flowery bells;
Gemming shoots the olive twine,
Clusters ripe festoon the vine;
All along the branches creeping,
Through the velvet foliage peeping,
Little infant fruits we see
Nursing into luxury!


WITHIN this goblet, rich and deep,
I cradle all my woes to sleep.

Why should we breathe the sigh of fear,
Or pour the unavailing tear?

For Death will never heed the sigh,
Nor soften at the tearful
And eyes that sparkle, eyes
that weep,
Must all alike be seal'd in sleep;
Then let us never vainly stray,

In search of thorns, from pleasure's way;
Oh! let us quaff the rosy wave

Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave;
And in the goblet, rich and deep,
Cradle our crying woes to sleep!


SEE, the young, the rosy Spring,
Gives to the breeze her spangled wing;

When with the blushing, naked Graces,
The wanton winding dance he traces.] "This sweet
idea of Love dancing with the Graces, is almost peculiar to

With some celestial, glowing maid, etc.] The epithet Babuxoxos, which he gives to the nymph, is literally "fullbosomed:" if this was really Anacreon's taste, the heaven of Mahomet would suit him in every particular. See the Koran, cap. 72.

Then let us never vainly stray,

In search of thorns from Pleasure's way, etc.] I have thus endeavoured to convey the meaning of T & TOV V vμ; according to Regnier's paraphrase of the line:

E che val, fuor della strada
Del piacere alma e gradita,
Vaneggiare in que ta vita ?


'Tis true, my fading years decline,
Yet I can quaff the brimming wine
As deep as any stripling fair

Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear;
And if, amidst the wanton crew,

I'm call'd to wind the dance's clue,
Thou shalt behold this vigorous hand,
Not faltering on the bacchant's wand,
But brandishing a rosy flask,

The only thyrsus e'er I'll ask!

The imperative da is infinitely more impressive, as in

But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.
There is a simple and poetical description of Spring, in
Catullus's beautiful farewell to Bithynia. Carm. 44.

Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, that this ode was written after he had returned from Athens, to settle in his paternal seat at Teos; there, in a little villa at some distance from the city, which commanded a view of the Ægean Sea and the islands, he contemplated the beauties of nature, and enjoyed the felicities of retirement. Vide Barnes, in Anac. vita. xxxv. This supposition, however unauthenticated, forms a pleasant association, which makes the poem more interesting.

Monsieur Chevreau says, that Gregory Nazianzenus haz paraphrased somewhere this description of Spring. I cannot find it. See Chevreau, Euvres Mêlées.

"Compare with this ode (says Degen) the verses of Hagedorn, book fourth, der Frühling, and book fifth, der Mai." While virgin Graces, warm with May,

Fling roses o'er her dewy way!] De Pauw reads, Xxp Tas pоs SрUOUT, "the roses display their graces." This is not uningenious; but we lose by it the beauty of the personification, to the boldness of which Regnier has objected very frivolously.

The murmuring billows of the deep


Have languish'd into silent sleep, etc.] It has been justly remarked that the liquid flow of the line aЯUVETNI 1 The fastidious affectation of some commentators has is perfectly expressive of the tranquillity which it denounced this ode as spurious. Degen pronounces the four last lines to be the patch-work of some miserable versificator; and Brunck condemns the whole ode. It appears to me to be elegantly graphical; full of elegant expressions and luxurious imagery. The abruptness of 15 s poc CaveVTOS is striking and spirited, and has been imitated rather languidly by Horace:

Vides ut alta stet nive candidum

And cultured field, and winding stream, etc.] By BpoTev spy," the works of men," (says Baxter,) he means cities, temples, and towns, which are then illuminated by the beams of the sun.

But brandishing a rosy flask, etc.] Arxos was a kind of leathern vessel for wine, very much in use, as should seem by the proverb ασκός και θύλακος, which was applied to those who were intemperate in cating and drinking. This

Let those who pant for glory's charms
Embrace her in the field of arms;
While my inglorious, placid soul
Breathes not a wish beyond the bowl.
Then fill it high, my ruddy slave,
And bathe me in its honied wave!
For, though my fading years decay,
And though my bloom has pass'd away,
Like old Silenus, sire divine,

With blushes borrow'd from my wine,
I'll wanton 'mid the dancing train,
And live my follies all again!


WHEN my thirsty soul I steep,
Every sorrow's lull'd to sleep.
Talk of monarchs! I am then
Richest, happiest, first of men ;
Careless o'er my cup I sing,
Fancy makes me more than king;
Gives me wealthy Croesus' store,
Can I, can I wish for more?
On my velvet couch reclining,
Ivy leaves my brow entwining,
While my soul dilates with glee,
What are kings and crowns to me?
If before my feet they lay,

I would spurn them all away!
Arm you, arm you, men of might,
Hasten to the sanguine fight-
Let me, oh, my budding vine!
Spill no other blood than thine.
Yonder brimming goblet see,
That alone shall vanquish me;
Oh! I think it sweeter far
To fall in banquet than in war!


WHEN Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy, The rosy harbinger of joy,

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl,
Thaws the winter of our soul;
When to my inmost core he glides,
And bathes it with his ruby tides,

A flow of joy, a lively heat,
Fires my brain, and wings my feet!
"T is surely something sweet, I think,
Nay, something heavenly sweet, to drink!
Sing, sing of love, let Music's breath
Softly beguile our rapturous death,
While, my young Venus, thou and I
To the voluptuous cadence die!
Then, waking from our languid trance,
Again we 'll sport, again we 'll dance.


WHEN I drink, I feel, I feel
Visions of poetic zeal!

Warm with the goblet's freshening dews,
My heart invokes the heavenly Muse.
When I drink, my sorrow's o'er;

I think of doubts and fears no more;
But scatter to the railing wind
Each gloomy phantom of the mind!
When I drink, the jesting boy,
Bacchus himself, partakes my joy;

And, while we dance through breathing bowers,
Whose every gale is rich with flowers,

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl,

Thaws the winter of our soul.] Avasos is the title which he gives to Bacchus in the original. It is a curious circumstance, that Plutarch mistook the name of Levi among the Jews for Av (one of the bacchanal cries,) and accordingly supposed they worshipped Bacchus.

1 Faber thinks this spurious; but, I believe, he is singular in his opinion. It has all the spirit of our author. Like the wreath which he presented in the dream, " smells of Anacreon."

The form of this ode, in the original, is remarkable. It is a kind of song of seven quatrain stanzas, each beginning with the line

Οτ' εγω πιω τον οίνον,

The first stanza alone is incomplete, consisting but of three lines.

"Compare with this poem (says Degen) the verses of

proverb is mentioned in some verses quoted by Athenæus, Hagedorn, lib. v. der Wein, where that divine poet has from the Hesione of Alexis.

The only thyrsus e'er I'll ask!] Phornutus assigns as a eason for the consecration of the thyrsus to Bacchus, that inebriety often renders the support of a stick very necessary. Ivy leaves my brow entwining, etc.] "The ivy was consecrated to Bacchus (says Montfaucon,) because he formerly ay hid under that tree, or, as others will have it, because its leaves resemble those of the vine. Other reasons for its consecration, and the use of it in garlands at banquets, may be found in Longepierre, Barnes, etc. etc.

Arm you, arm you, men of might,

Hasten to the sanguine fight. I have adopted the interpretation of Regnier and others:

Altri segua Marte fero;

Che sol Bacco è 'l mio conforto.

1 This, the preceding ode, and a few more of the same character, are merely chansons à boire. Most likely they were the effusions of the moment of conviviality, and were sung, we imagine, with rapture in Greece; but that interest ing association, by which they always recalled the convivial emotions that produced them, can be very little felt by the most enthusiastic reader; and much less by a phlegmatic grammarian, who sees nothing in them but dialects and particles.

wantoned in the praises of wine."

When I drink, I feel, I feel

(says Longepierre) whom wine has inspired with poetry. Visions of poetic zeal!] "Anacreon is not the only one There is an epigram in the first book of the Anthologia, which begins thus:

Οίνος του χαριεντι μέγας πόλει ίππος αοιδώς
Υδωρ δε πίνων, καλόν ου τεκοις επος. "
If with water you fill up your glasses,
You'll never write any thing wise;
For wine is the horse of Parnassus,

Which hurries a bard to the skies!

And, while we dance through breathing bowers, etc.] If some of the translators had observed Doctor Trapp's caution, with regard to have ups, "Cave ne cœluni intelligas," they would not have spoiled the simplicity of Anacreon's fancy, by such extravagant conceptions of the passage. Could our poet imagine such bombast as the following:

Quand je bois, mon œil s'imagine
Que, dans un tourbillon plein de parfums divers,
Bacchus m'emporte dans les airs,
Rempli de sa liqueur divine.

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