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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 ininion,
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,
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 !"

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Let us drain the nectar'd bowl,

Let us raise the song of soul
"T was night, and many a circling bowl

To him, the god who loves so well
Had deeply warm'd my swimming soul;

The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell!

Him, who instructs the sons of earth " The German imitators of it are, Lessing, in his poem To thrid the tangled dance of mirth; "Gestern Brüder, etc.' Gleim, in the ode. An den Tod,'

Him, who was nursed with infant Love, and Schmidt in der Poet. Blumenl. Gotting. 1783, p. 7."

And cradled in the Paphian grove;
That when the Fates would send their minion,

Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms
To waft me off on shadowy pinion, etc.] The commen- Has fondled in her twining arms.
tators, who are so fond of disputing " de lana caprina," have From him that dream of transport flows,
been very busy on the authority of the phrase ov' «v 6xvery
επιλθη. The reading of ν' αν θανατος επελβη, which De

Which sweet intoxication knows; Medenbach proposes in his Amenitates Litterariæ, was With him the brow forgets to darkle, already hinted by Le Fevre, who seldom suggests any thing

And brilliant graces learn to sparkle. worth notice.

Behold! my boys a goblet bear, The goblet rich, the board of friends,

Whose sunny foam bedews the air.
Whose flowing souls the goblet blends!) This commu-
nion of friendship, which sweetened the bowl of Anacreon, Where are now the tear, the sigh?
has not been forgotten by the author of the following scho- To the winds they fly, they fly!
lium, where the blessings of life are enumerated with pro-
verbial simplicity. Iγιαινειν μεν αριστον ανδρι θνητα,

Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking,
Διυτιρον δι, καλόν φυην γινεσθαι. Το τριτον δε, πλουτιιν Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking!
αδολως. Και το τεταρτον, συνηθαν μετα των φίλων.
Of mortal blessings here, the first is health,

Εγρομενος δε
And next, those charms by which the eye we move; Παρθενoν ουκ' εκεχησε, και ηθελεν αυθες ναυιον.
The third is wealth, onwounding, guiltless wealth,
And then, an intercourse with those we love!

Waking, he lost the phantom's charms,

He found no beauty in his arms; 1 "Compare with this ode the beautiful

Again to slumber he essay'd, Traum of Úz.'"-Degen.

Again to clasp the shadowy maid! Longepiert. Monsieur Le Fevre, in a nute upon this ode, enters into an elaborate and learned justification of drunkenness; and

Sleep! again my joys restore, this is probably the cause of the severe reprehension which On! 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 fæmina pene miserum dence of thought, to deteci an imitation of some ancient perdidit cum sceleratissimo suo congerrone (Anacreontempoet, alludes in the following words to the line of Anacreon dico, si nescis Lector,) noli sperare," etc. etc. He adduces before us: “I have been told that when Caliban, after a on this ode the authority of Plato, who allowed ebriety, at pleasing dream, says, 'I tried to sleep again,' the author the Dionysian festivals, to men arrived at their fortieth year. imitates Anacreon, who had, like any other man, the same He likewise quotes the following line from Alexis, which he wish on the same occasion." says no one, who is not totally ignorant of the world, can 1 "Compare with this beautiful ode the verses of Hagehesitate to confess the truth of:

dorn, lib. v. das Gesellschaftliche; and of Bürger, p. 51," Ουδεις φιλοποτης εστιν ανθρωπος κακος.

etc. etc.- Degen. “No lover of drinking was ever a vicious man."

Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms

Has fondled in her troining arms.] Robertellus, upon -tchen all my dream of joys,

the epithalamium of Catullus, mentions an ingenious aerivaDimpled girls and ruddy boys,

tion of Cytherea, the name of Venus, apr TS X509519 Toug All were gone!) Nonnus says of Bacchus, almost in the spätas, which seems to hint that “Love's fairy furours are same words that Anacreon uses,

I lost, when not concealed."

poem, der

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,
'Tis 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!

When Spring begems the dewy scene,
How I love the mellow sage,

How sweet to walk the velvet green,
Smiling through the veil of age !

And hear the Zephyr's languid sighs,
And whene'er this man of years

As o'er the scented mead he flies! In the dance of joy appears,

How sweet to mark the pouting vine, Age is on his temples hung,

Ready to fall in tears of wine ;
But his heart-his heart is young!

And with the maid whose every sigh
Is love and bliss, entranced to lie

Where the embowering branches meet-
No, no, the walk of life is dark,

Oh! is not this divinely sweet ? '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 has adduced, I shall content myself with this epigram from No, no, the heart that feels with me, the Anthologia :

Can never be a slave to thee!) Longopierre quotes an

epigram here from the Anthologia, on account of the simiΛουσάμενοι, Προδικη, πυκασωμεθα, και τον ακρατο larity of a particular phrase ; it is by no means anacreontic, Ελκωμεν, κυλικας μειζονος αραμενοι.

but has an interesting simplicity which induced me to paraΡοιος ο χαιροντων εστι βιος. ειτα τα λοιπα

phase it, and may atone for its intrusion. Γηρας κωλυσει, και το τελος θανατος.

Ελπις, και συ, τυχη, μεγα χαιρετι. τον λιμεν' ουρον. Of which the following is a loose paraphrase :

Ουδεν εμοι κ' υμιν, παιζετε τους μετ' με.
Fly, my beloved, to yonder stream,

At length to Fortune, and to you,
We'll plunge us from the noontide beam!
Then cull the rose's humid bud,

Delusive Hope! a last adieu.

The charm that once beguiled is o'er,
And dip it in our goblet's flood.

And I have reach'd my destined shore !
Our age of bliss, my nymph, shall fly

Away, away, your flaitering arts
As sweet, though passing, as that sigh

May now betray some simpler hearts,
Which seems to whisper o'er your

And you will smile at their believing,
“Come, while you may, of rapture sip."

And ihey shall weep at your deceiving !
For age will steal the rosy form,
And Chill the pulse, which trembles warm!

Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom,
And death-alas! that hearts, which thrill

And Venus dance me to the tomb !) The same commen
Like yours and mine, should e'er be still!

tator has quoted an epitaph, written upon our poet by Julian Age is on his temples hung,

where he makes him give the precepts of good-fellowship But his heart-his heart is young !] Saint Pavin makes even from the tomb. the same distinction in a sonnet to a young girl.

Πολλακι μεν τοδ' αιισα, και εκ τυμίου δε βοησω

Πινετε, πριν ταυτην αμφιβαλησθε κονιν.
Je sais bien que les destinées

This lesson oft in life I sung,
Ont mal compassé nos années;
Ne regardez que mon amour.

And from my grave I still shall cry,
Peut-être en serez vous émue :

“ Drink, mortal drink, while time is young,
Il est jeune, et n'est que du jour,

Ere death has made thee cold as I."
Belle Iris, que je vous ai vue.

And with the maid, whose every sigh
Fair and young, thou bloomest now,

Is love and bliss, etc.) Thus Horace:
And I full many a year have told ;

Quid habes illius, illius
But read the heart and not the brow,

Quo spirabat amores,
Thou shalt not find my love is old.

Que me surpuerat mihi.
My love 's a child ; and thou canst say

And does there then remain but this,
How much his little age may be,

And hast thou lost each rosy ray
For he was born the very day

Of her, who breathed the soul of bliss,
That first I set my eyes on thee !

And stole me from myseif 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!

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's 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. ODE XLIIL

The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenæus, attributed

to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it is called to While our rosy fillets shed

supp* Tou Avæxpsoutos. Neanthes of Cyzicus, as quoted Blushes o'er each fervid head,

by Gyraldus, asserts the same. Vide Chabot. in Horat On

the words “ Lesboum barbiton," in the first ode. With many a cup and many a smile The festal moments we beguile.

And then, what nectar in his sigh,

As o'er his lip the murmurs die!) Longepierre hus And while the harp, impassion'd, flings

quoted here an epigram from the Anthologia: Tuneful rapture from the strings,

Κουρη τις μ' εφιλησε τσοθεσπερα χειλεσιν υγροις.

Νικταρ ε ην το φίλημα. το γαρ στομα νεκταρος επνιι 1 The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly de

Νυν μοδυω το φιλη μ%, τoλυν τον έρωτα τσιπωλ@ς. picted. His love of social, harmonized pleasures is express- Of which the following may give some idea: ed with a warmth, amiable and endearing.. Among the epigrams imputed to Anacreon is the following; it is the

The kiss that she left on my lip only one worth translation, and it breathes the same senti

Like a dew-drop shall lingering lie; ments with this ode:

'Twas nectar she gave me to sip,

'Twas nectar I drank in her sigb! Ου φιλος, ος κρητηρι παρα τλεω οινοποταζων, Νικεα και πολεμον δακρυοντα λεγε:

The dew that distill'd in that kiss,
Αλλ' οστις Μουσεων τε, και αγλα α δωρ Αφροδιτης

To my soul was volupluous wine;
Ευμμισγων, ερατης μνησκείται ευφροσυνης.

Ever since it is drunk with the bliss,

And feels a delirium divine ! When to the lip the brimming cup is press'd,

Has Cupid left the starty sphere, And hearts are all afloat upon the stream,

To wave his golden tresses here?] The introduction of Then banish from my board the unpolish'd guest these deities to the festival is merely allegorical. Madame Who makes the feats of war his barbarous theme. Dacier thinks that the poet describes a masquerade, where

these deities were personated by the company in masks. But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes The translation will conform with either idea.

The Muse's laurel with the Cyprian flower:
Oh! give me him whoso beart expansive breathes

All, all here, to hail with me
All the refinements of the social hour.

The Genius of Festivity!) Kop0s, the deity or genius

of mirth. Philostratus, in the third of his pictures (as all And while the harp, impassion'd, flings

the annotators have observed) gives a very beautiful deTuneful rapture from the strings, etc.) On the barbiton scription of this god. 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 naturo 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 onioform- 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 fifty. scale, simplicity was by no means the characteristic of their fifth ode.

" Compare with this forty-fourth ode (saya the German tal Collected by Meibomius.

annotator) the beautiful ode of Uz, die Roso."

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 retlecting 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 !


ODE XLVII. Within this goblet, rich and deep,

'T is true, my fading years decline, I cradle all my woes to sleep.

Yet I can quaff the brimming wine Why should we breathe the sigh of fear,

As deep as any stripling fair Or pour the unavailing tear?

Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear; For Death will never hecd the sigh,

And if, amidst the wanton crew, Nor soften at the tearful eye;

I'm call'd to wind the dance's clue, And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep,

Thou shalt behold this vigorous hand, Must all alike be seal'd in sleep;

Not faltering on the bacchant's wand, Then let us never rainly stray,

But brandishing a rosy flask, In search of thorns, from pleasure's way;

The only thyrsus e'er I'll ask! Oh! let us quaff the rosy wave Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave; The imperative od: is infinitely more impressive, as in And in the goblet, rich and deep,

Shakspeare, Cradle our crying woes to sleep!

But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,

Walks o'er the dew of yon bigh 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 SEE, the young, the rosy Spring,

his paternal seat at Teos; there, in a little villa at some dis

tance from the city, which commanded a view of the Ægean Gives to the breeze her spangled wing; Sea and the islands, he conteniplated the beauties of nature,

and enjoyed the felicities of retirement. Vide Barnes, in

Anac. vita. ♡ xxxv. This supposition, however unauthienWhen with the blushing, naked Gracos,

ticated, forms a pleasant association, which makes the poem The wanton winding dance he traces ] * This sweet

more interesting. idea of Love dancing with the Graces, is almost poculiar to

Monsieur Chevreau says, that Gregory Nazianzenus bar Anacreon."-Degen.

paraphrased somewhere this description of Spring. I canWith some celestial, glowing maid, etc.). The epithet not find it. See Chevreau, Euvres Mêlées. Bajuxon T05, which he gives to the nymph, is literally " full- "Compare with this ode (says Degen) the verses of Hagebosomed :" if this was really Anacreon's taste, the heaven dorn, bouk fourth, der Frühling, and book fifth, der Mai." of Mahomet would suit him in every particular. See the

While virgin Graces, warm with May, Koran, cap. 72.

Fling roses o'er her dery way!) De Pauw reads, Xxpo. Then let us never vainly stray,

T25 poise Spuovgiv, " the roses display their graces."

This In scarch of Thorns from Pleasure's way, etc.) I have is not uningenious; but we lose by it the beauty of the perthus endeavoured to convey the meaning of To di Torror sonification, to the boldness of which Regnier has objected 7&rwjx• ; according to Regnier's parapbrase of the line: very frivolously. E che val, fuor della strada

The murmuring billows of the deep
Del piacero alma e gradita,

Have languish'd into silent sleep, etc.) It has been
Vaneggiare in que la vita i

justly remarked that the liquid flow of the line ****UNIT** I The fastidious affectation of some commentators has 2 sdnvm is perfectly expressive of the tranquillity which it

describes. denounced this ode as spurious. Degen pronounces the four last lines to be the patch-work of some miserable ver- And cultured field, and rinding stream, etc.). By Bpoo sificator; and Brunck condemns the whole ode. It appears Tev #py*, “the works of men," says Baxter,) he means to me to be elegantly graphical; full of clegant expressions cities, temples, and towns, which are then illuminated by and luxurious imagery. The abruptness of 1fo sus expos the beams of the sun. CUVEYTOS is striking and spirited, and has been imitated

But brandishing a rosy flask, etc.) Askog was a kind rather languidly by Horace:

of leathern vessel for wine, very much in uso, as should Vides ut alta stet nive candidum

seem by the proverb atxos *** Sudax0s, which was applied Boracte

to those who were intemperate in cating and drinking. This Let those who pant for glory's charms

Who, with the sunshine of the bowi, Embrace her in the field of arms;

Thaws the winter of our soul; While my inglorious, placid soul

When to my inmost core he glides, Breathes not a wish beyond the bowl.

And bathes it with his ruby tides, Then fill it high, my ruddy slave,

A flow of joy, a lively heat, And bathe me in its honied wave!

Fires my brain, and wings my feet! For, though my fading years decay,

"T is surely something sweet, I think, And though my bloom has pass'd away,

Nay, something heavenly sweet, to drink! Like old Silenus, sire divine,

Sing, sing of love, let Music's breath With blushes borrow'd from my wine,

Softly beguile our rapturous death, I'll wanton 'mid the dancing train,

While, my young Venus, thou and I
And live my follies all again!

To the voluptuous cadence die!
Then, waking from our languid trance,

Again we 'll sport, again we 'U dance.
WHEN my thirsty soul I steep,
Every sorrow 's lull'd to sleep.

Talk of monarchs! I am then

When I drink, I feel, I feel Richest, happiest, first of men;

Visions of poetic zeal ! Careless o'er my cup I sing,

Warm with the goblet's freshening dews, Fancy makes me more than g;

My heart invokes the heavenly Muse. Gives me wealthy Cræsus' store,

When I drink, my sorrow 's o'er; Can I, can I wish for more ?

I think of doubts and fears no more; On my velvet couch reclining,

But scatter to the railing wind Ivy leaves my brow entwining,

Each gloomy phantom of the mind ! While my soul dilates with glee,

When I drink, the jesting boy, What are kings and crowns to me?

Bacchus himself, partakes my joy; If before my feet they lay,

And, while we dance through breathing bowers, I would spurn them all away!

Whose every gale is rich with flowers,
Arm you, arm you, men of might,
Hasten to the sanguine fight-
Let me, oh, my budding vine !

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl,

Thaws the winter of our soul.). Auctos is the title which Spill no other blood than thine.

he gives to Bacchus in the original. It is a curious circumYonder brimming goblet see,

stance, that Plutarch mistook the name of Levi among the That alone shall vanquish me;

Jews for Arvo (one of the baccbanal cries,) and accordingly Oh! I think it sweeter far

supposed they worshipped Bacchus.

1 Faber thinks this spurious; but, I believe, be is singular To fall in banquet than in war!

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 ODE XLIX.'

is a kind of song of seven quatrain atanzas, each beginning

with the line Wuen Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy,

Οτ' εγω τιω τον δινον, The rosy harbinger of joy,

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 bas from the Hesione of Alexis.

wantoned in the praises of wine." The only thyrsus e'er I'll ask!] Phornutus assigns as a When I drink, I feel, I feel eason for the consecration of the thyrsus to Bacchus, that inebriety often renders the support of a stick very necessary. (says Longepierre) whom wine has inspired with poetry.

Visions of poetic zeal !) " Anacreon is not the only ons loy leaves my brow entwining, etc.) “The ivy was con- There is an epigram in the first book of the Anthologia, secrated to Bacchus (says Montfaucon,) because he formerly which begins thus : jay bid under that tree, or, as others will have it, because its leaves resemble those of the vine. Other reasons for its

Οινος τοι χαριεντι μεγας τελιι ιππος αοιδα, consecration, and the use of it in garlands at banquets, may

Υδρ δε τινων, καλον ου τικoις επος.” be found in Longepierre, Barnes, etc. etc.

If with water you fill up your glasses, Arm you, arm you, men of might,

You'll never write any thing wise; Hasten to the sanguine fight. I have adopted the inter

For wine is the horse of Parnassus, pretation of Regnier and others :

Which hurries a bard to the skies!
Altri segua Marte fero;

And, while we dance through breathing bowers, etc.) If
Che sol Bacco é 'l mio conforto.

some of the translators had observed Doctor Trapp's cav1 This, the preceding ode, and a few more of the same tion, with regard to soavaroscoe je ev Upxes, “Cave ne cacharacter, are inerely chansons à boire. Most likely they luni intelligas," they would not have spoiled the simplicity were the effusions of the moment of conviviality, and were of Anacreon's fancy, by such extravagant conceptions of sung, we imagine, with rapture in Greece; but that interest- the passage. Could our poet imagino such bombast as the ing association, by which they always recalled the convivial following: emotions that produced them, can be very little felt by the Quand je bois, mon wil s'imagine most enthusiastic reader; and much less by a phlegmatic Que, dans un tourbillon plein de parfums diren, grammarian, who sces nothing in them but dialocis and Bacchus m'emporte dans les airs, particles.

Rempli de sa liqueur divine.

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