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Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been!
Long before the dawn was seen,
When a dream came o'er my mind,
Picturing her I worship, kind,
Just when I was nearly blest,
Loud thy matins broke my rest !

And let me sing, in wild delight,
“I will— I will be mad to-night!"
Alcmæon once, as legends tell,
Was phrensied by the fiends of hell;
Orestes too, with naked tread,
Frantic paced the mountain-head;
And why? a murder'd mother's shade
Haunted them still where'er they stray'd.
But ne'er could I a murderer be,
The grape alone shall bleed by me;
Yet can I shout, with wild delight,
“I will—I will be mad to-night.”

Alcides' self, in days of yore,
Imbrued his hands in youthful gore,
And brandish’d, with a maniac joy,
The quiver of th' expiring boy:
And Ajax, with tremendous shield,
Infuriate scour'd the guiltless field.
But I, whose hands no weapon ask,
No armor but this joyous flask;
The trophy of "vhose frantic hours
Js but a scatter'd wreath of flowers,
Ev'n I can sing with wild delight,
“I will—I will be mad to-night!"

“Tell me, gentle youth, I pray theo,
What in purchase shall I pay thee
For this little waxen toy,
Image of the Paphian boy?"
Thus I said, the other day,
To a youth who pass'd my way
“Sir,” (he answer'd, and the wici o
Answer'd all in Doric style,)
“ Take it, for a trifle take it;
'Twas not I who dared to make it;
No, believe me, 'twas not I;
Oh, it has cost me many a sigh,
And I can no longer keep
Little gods, who murder sleep!"
“Here, then, here,” (I said with joy,)
“ Here is silver for the boy:
He shall be my bosom guest,
Idol of my pious breast !"


How am I to punish thee,
For the wrong thou'st done to me,
Silly swallow, prating thing?
Shall I clip that wheeling wing ?
Or, as Tereus did, of old,
(So the fabled tale is told,)
Shall I tear that tongue away,
Tongue that utter'd such a lay?

Now, young Love, I have thee mine,
Warm me with that torch of thine ;
Make me feel as I have felt,
Or thy waxen frame shall melt:
I must burn with warm desire,
Or thou, my boy-in yonder fire.

1 This ode is addressed to a swallow. I find from Degen

* Or, as Tereus did, of old, &c.) Modern poetry has conand from Gail's index, that the German poet Weisse has firmed the name of Philomel upon the nightingale; but many imitated it, Scherz. Lieder. lib. ii.carm. 5. ; that Ramler also

respectable authorities among the ancients assigned this has imitated it, Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 335; and some metamorphose to Progne, and made Philomel the swallow, others. See Gail de Editionibns.

as Anacreon does here. We are here referred by Degen to that dull book, the Epistles of Alciphron, tenth epistle, third book; where Iophon simplicity of this ode, and the humor of the turn with which

• It is difficult to preserve with any grace the narrative complains to Eraston of being awakened by the crowing of a

it concludes. I feel, indeed, that the translation must ap cock, from his vision of riches.

pear vapid, if not ludicrous, to an English reader. ? Silly swallow, prating thing, &c.] The loquacity of the

B And I can no longer keep swallow was proverbialized; thus Nicostratus:

Little gods, who murder sleep!) I have not literally ren: dered the epithet rartopekta; if it has any

meaning here, it Ει το συνεχως και πολλα και ταχεως λαλειν

is one, perhaps, better omitted. Ην του φρονειν παρασημον, αι χελιδονες

6 I must burn with warm desire, Ελεγονταν ημων σωφρονιστεραι πολυ.

Or thou, my boy-in yonder fire.) From this Longepierre If in prating from morning till night

conjectures, that, whatever Anacreon might say, he felt A sign of our wisdom there be,

sometimes the inconveniences of old age, and here solicits The swallows are wiser by right,

from the power of Love a warmth which he could no longer For they prattle much faster than we.

expect from Nature.


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Cupid has long, with smiling art,
Invited me to yield my heart;
And I have thought that peace of mind
Should not be for a smile resign'd:
And so repell’d the tender lure,
And hoped my heart would sleep secure

They tell how Atys, wild with love,
Roams the mount and haunted grove;'
Cybele's name he howls around,
The gloomy blast returns the sound!
Oft too, by Claros' hallow'd spring,'
The votaries of the laurellid king
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream,
And rave in wild, prophetic dream.
But phrensied dreams are not for me,
Great Bacchus is my deity!
Full of mirth, and full of him,
While floating odors round me swim,"
While mantling bowls are full supplied,
And you sit blushing by my side,
I will be mad and raving too
Mad, my girl, with love for you!

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But, slighted in his boasted charms,
The angry infant flew to arms;
He slung his quiver's golden frame,
He took his bow, his shafts of flamo,
And proudly summon'd me to yield,
Or meet him on the martial field
And what did I unthinking do?
I took to arms, undaunted, too ;
Assumed the corslet, shield, and spee
And, like Pelides, smiled at fear.
Then (hear it, all ye powers above !)
I fought with Love! I fought with Love !
And now his arrows all were shed,
And I had just in terror fled-
When, heaving an indignant sigh,
To see me thus unwounded fly,
And, having now no other dart,
He shot himself into my heart !

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They tell how Atys, wild with love,

Alas! then, unable to combat the two,
Reans the mount and kaunted grore ;) There are many

Unfortunate warrior, what should I do?
contradictory stories of the loves of Cybele and Atys. It is
certain that he was mutilated, but whether by his own fury, ted, is delicately expressed in an Italian poem, which is so

This idea of the irresistibility of Cupid and Bacchus uniof Cybele's jealousy, is a point apon which authors are not agreed.

truly Anacreontic, that its introduction here may be par

doned. It is an imitation, indeed, of our poet's sixth ode. Cybde's name ke koxls around, &c.] I have here adopted the accentuation which Elias Andreas gives to Cybele :

Lavossi Amore in quel vicino fiume

Ove giuro (Pastor) che bevend' io
In montibus Cybèlen

Bevei le fiamme, anzi l'istesso Dio,
Magno sonans boatu.

Ch'or con l'humide piume
Oft tos, big Claros' hallow'd spring, &c.] This fountain was

Lascivetto mi scherza al cor intorno. in a grafe, consecrated to Apollo, and situated between Colo

Ma che sarei s'io lo bevessi un giorno, phon and Lebedos, in lonia. The god had an oracle there.

Bacco, nel tuo liquore ?
Saliger thus alludes to it in his Anacreontica:

Sarei, piu che non sono ebro d'Amore.
The urchin of the bow and quiver
Was bathing in a neighboring river,
Where, as I drank on yester-eve,

(Shepherd-youth, the tale believe,)
Quo plus canunt, plura volunt.

'Twas not a cooling, crystal draught,
'Twas liquid flame I madly quaff”d ;
For Love was in the rippling tide,
I felt him to my bosom glide;
And now the wily, wanton minion
Plays round my heart with restless pinion.

A day it was of fatal star, gested an epigram from the Anthologia, in which the poet

But ah, 'twere e'en more fatal far,

If, Bacchus, in thy cup of fire, Ωπλισμοι προς ερωτα περι στερνοισι λογισμoν,

I found this flutt'ring, young desire : ,

Then, then indeed my soul would

E'en more than ever, drunk with love!
Βακχον έχη, τι μονος προς δυ’ εγω δυναμαι

& And, having now no other dart,

He shot himself into my heart!) Dryden has parodied this
thought in the following extravagant lines :-

-I'm all o'er Love;
Nay, I am Love, Love shot, and shot so far,
He shot himsek into my breast at last.

Semel ut concitus estro,
Veluti qui Clarias aquas
Ebibere loquaces,

While Roating odors, &c.] Spaletti has quite mistaken the le port of Koçecours, as applied to the poet's mistress-"Med filiates amica;"-thus interpreting it in a sense which nast want either delicacy or gallantry; if not, perhaps, both.

And ekat did I unthinking do?

I task to cres, undaunted, too ;) Longepierre has here

Bemes Reason as the armor against Love.

Οτέε με νικησει, μουνος εων προς θνατος δ' αθανατω συνελευσομαι: ην δε βοηθον


With Reason I cover my breast as a shield,
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field ;
Thus fighting his godship, I'll ne'er be dismay'd;
But if Bacehus should ever advance to his aid,

My heart—alas the luckless day!
Received the god, and died away.
Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield !
Thy lord at length is forced to yield.
Vain, vain, is every outward care,
The foe's within, and triumphs there.

All the gentle nymphs I love.
First, of pure Athenian maids
Sporting in their olive shades,
You may reckon just a score,
Nay, I'll grant you fifteen more.
In the famed Corinthian grove,
Where such countless wantons rove,
Chains of beauties may be found,
Chains, by which my heart is bound;
There, indeed, are nymphs divine,
Dangerous to a soul like mine."
Many bloom in Lesbos' isle ;
Many in Ionia smile;
Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast ;
Caria too contains a host.
Sum them all-of brown and fair
You may count two thousand there.


COUNT ne, on the summer trees,
Every leas that courts the breeze;"
Count me, on the foamy deep,
Every wave that sinks to sleep;
Then, when you have number'd these
Billowy tides and leafy trees,
Count me all the flames I prove,

Carm, 7.

1 The poet, in this catalogue of his mistresses, means nothing more than, by a lively hyperbole, to inform us, that his heart, unfettered by any one object, was warm with devotion towards the sex in general. Cowley is indebted to this ode for the hint of his ballad, called “The Chronicle ;" and the learned Menage has imitated it in a Greek Anacreontic, which has so much ease and spirit, that the reader may not be displeased at seeing it here :

Ει αλσεων τα φυλλα, ,
Λειμωνιους τε ποιας, ,
Ει νυκτος αστρα παντα, ,
Παρακτιους τε ψαμμους,

Aλος τε κυματωδη,

Δυνη, Βιων, αριθμειν,
Και τους εμους ερωτας
Δυνη, Βιωυ, αριθμειν.
Κορην, γυναικα, Χηραν,
Σμικρην, Μεσην, Μεγιστης,
Λευκην τε και Μελαιναν, ,
Ορειαδας, Ναπαιας,
Νηρηίδας τε πασας
“Ο σος φιλος φιλησε
Παντων κορος μεν εστιν.

Αυτην νεων Ερωτων, ,
Δεσποιναν Αφροδιτην, ,
Χρυσην, καλην γλυκειαν,
Ερασμιαν, ποθεινην,
Αει μονην φιλησαι

Εγωγε μη δοναιμην. .
Tell the foliage of the woods,
Tell the billows of the floods,
Number midnight's starry store,
And the sands that crowd the shore,
Then, my Bion, thou mayst count
Of my loves the vast amount
I've been loving, all my days,
Many nymphs, in many ways;
Virgin, widow, maid, and wife-
I've been doting all my life.
Naiads, Nereids, nymphs of fountains,
Goddesses of groves and mountains,
Fair and sable, great and small,
Yes, I swear I've loved them all!
Soon was every passion over,
I was but the moment's lover;

Oh! I'm such a roving elf,
That the Queen of love herself,
Though she practised all her wiles,
Rosy blushes, wreathed smiles,
All her beauty's proud endeavor

Could not chain my heart forever. 2 Count me, on the summer trees,

Every leaf, &c.] This figure is called, by rhetoricians, the Impossible, (ašvvatov,) and is very frequently made use of in poetry. The amatory writers have exhausted a world of imagery by it, to express the infinite number of kisses which they require from the lips of their mistresses: in this Catullus led the way.

-Quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox,
Furtivos hominum vident amores;
Tam te basia multa basiare
Vesano satis, et super, Catullo est:
Qur nec pernumerare curiosi
Possint, nec mala fascinare lingua.
As many stellar oyes of light,
As through the silent waste of night,
Gazing upon this world of shade,
Witness some secret youth and maid,
Who fair as thou, and fond as I,
In stolen joys enamor'd lie,-
So many kisses, ere I slumber,
Upon those dew-bright lips I'll number;
So many kisses we shall count,
Envy can never tell th' amount.
No tongue shall blab the sum, but mine;

No lips shall fascinate, but thine !
3 In the famed Corinthian grove,

Where such countless wantons rove, &c.] Corinth was very famous for the beanty and number of its courtesans. Venus was the deity principally worshipped by the people, and their constant prayer was, that the gods should increase the number of her worshippers. We may perceive from the application of the verb kopur@lazer, in Aristophanes

, that the lubricity of the Corinthians had become proverbial.

* There, indeed, are nymphs divine,

Dangerous to a soul like mine !) “With justice has the poet attributed beauty to the women of Greece.”-Degen.

M. de Pauw, the author of Dissertations upon the Greeks, is of a different opinion ; he thinks, that by a capricious partiality of nature, the other sex had all the beauty; and by this supposition endeavors to account for a very singular do pravation of instinct among that people.

What, you staro ? I pray you, peace!

Venus, for a hymn of love,
More I'll find before I cease.

Warbled in her votive grove,"
Have I told you all my flames,

('Twas in sooth a gentle lay,) 'Mong the amorous Syrian dames?

Gave me to the bard away.
Have I number'd every one,

See me now his faithful minion.
Glowing under Egypt's sun ?

Thus with softly-gliding pinion, Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweet,

To his lovely girl I bear Deck the shrine of Love in Crete;

Songs of passion through the air Where the God, with festal play,

Oft he blandly whispers me, Holds eternal holiday?

“Soon, my bird, I'll set you free.” Still in clusters, still remain

But in vain he'll bid me fly, Gades' warm, desiring train ;'

I shall serve him till I die. Still there lies a myriad moro

Never could my plumes sustain On the sable India's shore;

Ruffling winds and chilling rain, These, and many far removed,

O'er the plains, or is the dell,
All are loving—all are loved!

On the mountain's savage swell,
Seeking in the desert wood
Gloomy shelter, rustic food.
Now I lead a life of ease,
Far from rugged haunts like these.

From Anacreon's hand I eat

Food delicious, viands sweet;
Tell me, why, my sweetest dove,'

Flutter o'er his goblet's brim, Thus your humid pinions move,

Sip the foamy wine with him. Shedding through the air in showers

Then when I have wanton'd round Essence of the balmiest flowers ?

To his lyre's beguiling sound; Tell me whither, whence you rove,

Or with gently-moving wings Tell me all, my sweetest dove.

Fann’d the minstrel while he sings:

On his harp I sink in slumbers,
Carious stranger, I belong

Dreaming still of dulcet numbers !
To the bard of Teian song ;
With his mandate now I fly

This is all-away-away-
To the nymph of azure eye ;-

You have made me waste the day. She, whose eye has madden'd many,'

How I've chatter'd! prating crow But the poet more than any.

Never yet did chatter so. 1 Gades' rern, desiring train ;) The Gaditanian girls were See the poem. Daniel Heinsins, in speaking of Dousa, who like the Baladie res of Indi: whose dances are thus described adopted this method at the siege of Leyden, expresses a by a French author; “Les danses sont presque toutes des similar sentiment. pantomimes d'amour; le plan, le dessein, les attitudes, les

Quo patriæ non tendit amor? Mandata referre mesures, les sons et les cadences de ces ballets, tout respire Postquam hominem nequiit mittere, misit avem. cette passion et en exprime les voluptés et les fureurs."--His

Fuller tells us, that at the siege of Jerusalem, the Chrisloire da Coeneree des Europ. dans les deur Indes. Raynal. tians intercepted a letter, tied to the legs of a dove, in which The music of the Gaditanian females had all the volup

the Persian Emperor promised assistance to the besieged.teous character of their dancing, as appears from Martial:

Holy War, cap. 24, book i.
Cantica qui Nili, qui Gaditana susurrat.

Lib. iii. epig. 63.

: She, whose eye has madden'd many, &-c.] For Tupavvov, in Lodovico Ariosto had this ode of our bard in his mind,

the original, Zeune and Schneider conjecture that we should when he wrote his poem “De diversis amoribus." See the read rupavvov, in allusion to the strong influence which this Anthologia Italorum.

object of his love held over the mind of Polycrates. See Degen. * The dove of Anacreon, bearing a letter from the poet to * Venus, for a hymn of love, : his mistress, is met by a stranger, with whom this dialogue is Warbled in her votive grove, &c.] “This passage is invaluimgined

able, and I do not think that any thing so beautiful or so The ancients made use of letter-carrying pigeons, when delicate has ever been said. What an idea does it give of they went any distance from home, as the most certain means the poetry of the man, from whom Venus herself, the mother of conveying intelligence back. That tender domestic attach of the Graces and the Pleasures, purchases a little hymn Bent, which attracts this delicate little bird through every with one of her favorite doves!" Longepierre. dnger and difficulty, till it settles in its native nest, affords De Pauw objects to the authenticity of this ode, because it to the author of " The Pleasures of Memory" a fine and in makes Anacreon his own panegyrist; but poets have a likeresting exemplification of his subject.

cense for praising themselves, which, with some indeed, Led by what chart, transports the timid dove

may be considered as comprised under their general priviThe wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love ! lege of fiction.


Let her eyebrows smoothly rise
In jetty arches o'er her eyes,
Each, a crescent gently gliding,
Just commingling, just dividing.

Thou, whose soft and rosy hues
Mimic form and soul infuse,
Best of painters, come, portray
The lovely maid that's far away.'
Far away, my soul! thou art,
But I've thy beauties all by heart.
Paint her jetty ringlets playing,
Silky locks, like tendrils straying ;*
And, if painting hath the skill
To make the spicy balm distil,
Let every little lock exhalo
A sigh of perfume on the gale.
Where her tresses' curly flow
Darkles o'er the brow of snow,
Let her forehead beam to light,
Burnish'd as the ivory bright.

But, hast thou any sparkles warm,
The lightning of her eyes to formi
Let them effuse the azure rays
That in Minerva's glances blaze,
Mix'd with the liquid light that lios
In Cytherea's languid eyes.
O'er her nose and cheek be shed
Flushing white and soften'd red;
Mingling tints, as when there glows
In snowy milk the bashful rose."
Then her lip, so rich in blisses,
Sweet petitioner for kisses,
Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion,
Mutely courting Love's invasion.

1 This ode and the next may be called companion-pictures; the ancients to the goddess Isis, he says, " Nor will they are highly finished, and give us an excellent idea of the but that Anacreon, (a man very judicious in the taste of the ancients in beauty. Franciscus Junius quotes motives of wanton love,) intending to bestow on them in his third book “De Pictura Veterum."

mistress that one of the titles of woman's special o This ode has been imitated by Ronsard, Giuliano Goselini, well-haired, (radiadokajos,) thought of this wher &c. &c. Scaliger alludes to it thus in his Anacreontica: his painter direction to make her black-haired.” Olim lepore blando,

6 And, if painting hath the skill Litis versibus

To make the spicy balm distil, &c.] Thus Phi Candidus Anacreon

speaking of a picture: επαινω και τον ενδροσον τω Quam pingeret amicus

και φημι γεγραφθαι αυτα μετα της οσμης. “I ad Descripsit Venerem suam.

dewiness of these roses, and could say that their v The Teian bard of former days,

was painted.” Attuned his sweet descriptive lays,

6 Mir'd with the liquid light that lies And taught the painter's hand to trace

In Cytherea's languid cyes.) Marchetti explains His fair beloved's every grace.

úypov of the original:In the dialogue of Caspar Barlæus, entitled “ An formosa sit

Dipingili umidetti ducenda," the reader will find many curious ideas and de

Tremuli e lascivetti, scriptions of womanly beauty.

Quai gli ha Ciprigna l'alma Dea d'Amore 2 Thou, whose soft and rosy hues,

Tasso has painted in the same manner the eyes of A Mimic form and soul infuse,] I have followed here the

Qual raggio in onda le scintilla un riso reading of the Vatican MS. podens. Painting is called “the

Negli umidi occhi tremulo e lascivo. rosy art," either in reference to coloring, or as an indefinite

Within her humid, melting eyes epithet of excellence, from the association of beauty with

A brilliant ray of laughter lies, that flower. Salvini has adopted this reading in his literal

Soft as the broken solar beam, translation:

That trembles in the azure stream. Della rosea arte signore.

The mingled expression of dignity and tenderne 3 The lovely maid that's far away.) If this portrait of the

Anacreon requires the painter to infuse into the ey poet's mistress be not merely ideal, the omission of her name

mistress, is more amply described in the subseq is much to be regretted. Meleager, in an epigram on Anac

Both descriptions are so exquisitely touched, that reon, mentions "the golden Eurypyle" as his mistress.

must have been great indeed, if he did not yield in Βεβληκως χρυσεην χειρας επ’ Ευρυπυλην.

to the poet. + Paint her jetty ringlets playing,

7 Mingling tints, as when there glows Silky locks like tendrils straying ;) The ancients have

In snowy milk the bashful rose.) Thus Properti been very enthusiastic in their praises of the beauty of hair. lib. ii. Apuleius, in the second book of his Milesiacs, says, that

Utque rosæ puro lacte natant folia. Venus herself, if she were bald, though surrounded by the And Davenant, in a little poem called “The Mistro Graces and the Loves, could not be pleasing even to her

Catch as it falls the Scythian snow, husband Vulcan.

Bring blushing roses steep'd in milk. Stesichorus gave the epithet kallidokapos to the Graces, Thus too Taygetus :and Simonides bestowed the same upon the Muses. See

Quæ lac atque rosas vincis candore rub Hadrian Junius's Dissertation upon Hair.

These last words may perhaps defend the "flushin To this passage of our poet, Seldon alluded in a note on of the translation. the Polyolbion of Drayton, Song the Second, where observ 8 Then her lip, 80 rich in blisses, ing, that the epithet “ black-haired" was given by some of Sweet petitioner for kisses,] The "lip, provokin:

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