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Oh, there is nought in nature bright, Disclosed the nymph of azure glance,
Where roses do not shed their light! The nymph who shakes the martia)
When morning paints the orient skies, lance !
Her fingers burn with roseate dyes ;' Then, then, in strange eventful hour,
The nymphs display the rose's charms, The earth produced an infant flower,
It mantles o'er their graceful arms ; Which sprung, with blushing tinctures
Through Cytherea's form it glows,

dressed,
And mingles with the living snows. And wantoned o'er its parent breast.
The rose distils a healing balm, The gods beheld this brilliant birth,
The beating pulse of pain to calm ; And hailed the Rose, the boon of earth!
Preserves the cold inurned clay,” With nectar drops, a ruby tide,
And mocks the vestige of decay : The sweetly orient buds they dyed,
And when, at length, in pale decline, And bade them bloom, the flowers
Its tlorid beauties fade and pine,

divine Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath Of him who sheds the teeming vine; Ditsuses odour e'en in death!

And bade them on the spangled thorn Oh! whence could such a plant have Expand their bosoms to the morn.

sprung?
Attend - for thus the tale is sung.
When, humid, from the silvery stream,
Effusing beauty's warmest beam,
Venus appeared, in Aushing hues,

ODE LVI.
Mellowed by Ocean's briny dews ;
When, in the starry courts above, He, who instructs the youthful crew
The

pregnant brain of mighty Jove To bathe them in the brimmer's dew, introduced in the romance of Theodorus. Mure- Pierius, lib. 1v., that some of the ancients used to tas, in one of his elegies, calls his mistress his order in their wills, that roses should be annually

scattered on their tombs, and he has adduced Jam te igitur rursus teneo, formosula, jam te

some sepulchral inscriptions to this purpose. (Quid trepidas ?) teneo; jam, rosa, te teneo.

3. The author of the Pervigilium Veneris (a Eleg. 8.

poem attributed to Catullus, the style of which

appears to me to have all the laboured luxuriance Now I again embrace thee, dearest,

of a much later period) ascribes the tineture of (Tell me, wanton, why thou fearest ?)

the rose to the blood from the wound of AdonisAgain my longing arms infold thee,

Rose
Again, my rose, again I hold thee.
This, like most of the terms of endearment in the

Fusæ aprino de cruoremodern Latin poets, is taken from Plautus: they according to the emendation of Lipsius. In the Were vulgar and colloquial in his time, and they following epigram this hue is differently acare among the elegances of the modern Latinists.

counted for : In the original here, he enumerates the many Ia quidem studiosa suum defendere Adonim, epithets of beauty, borrowed from roses, which Gradivus stricto quem petit ense ferox, were used by the poets, Tapa Twv podwy. We Affixit duris vestigia cæca rosetis, Ke that poets were dignified in Greece with the Albaque divino pieta cruore rosa est. title of sages; even the careless Anacreon, who while the enamoured queen of joy lived but for love and voluptuousness, was called Fljes to protect her lovely boy, by Plato the wise Anaereon. Fuit hæc sapientia On whom the jealous war-god rushes; quondon,

She treads upon a thorned rose, He here alludes to the use of the rose in em- And while the wound with crimson flows, balming, and perhaps (as Parnes thinks) to the

The snowy floweret feels her blood, and blushes! Posy urgent with which Venas anointed the corpse of Hector. It may likewise regard the

• This appears to be one of the hymns which an ient practice of patt ng garlands of roses on vintage; one of the enviou upvot, as our poet

were sung at the anniversary festival of the the dead, as in Statius, Theb. lib. x. 782:

himself terms them in the fifty-ninth ode. "We Hi sertis, hi veris honore soluto

cannot help feeling a peculiar veneration for these Accumulant artas patriâque in sede reponunt relics of the religion or antiquity.

Horace may Corpus odoratum,

be supposed to have written the nineteenth ode where 'veris honor,' though it means every kind of his second book and the twenty-fifth of the of flowers, may seem more particularly to refer third for some bacchanalian celebration of this to the rose. We read, in the Hieroglyphics of kind.

rose :

And taste, uncloyed by rich ex- Imagine thus, in semblance warm, cesses,

The Queen of Love's voluptuous form, All the bliss that wine possesses ! Floating along the silvery sea He, who inspires the youth to glance In beauty's naked majesty ? In winged circlets through the dance ! Oh ! he has given the raptured sight Bacchus, the god, again is here, A witching banquet of delight; And leads along the blushing year ;

And all those sacred scenes of Love, The blushing year with rapture teems, Where only hallowed eyes may rove, Ready to shed those cordial streams Lie faintly glowing, half-concealed, Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, Within the lucid billows veiled. Illuminate the sons of earth !1

Light as the leaf that summer's And when the ripe and vermil wine, breeze Sweet infant of the pregnant vine,

Has wafted o'er the glassy seas, Which now in mellow clusters swells, She floats upon the ocean's breast, Oh! when it bursts its rosy cells, Which undulates in sleepy rest, The heavenly stream shall mantling And stealing on, she gently pillows How,

Her bosom on the amorous billows. To balsam every mortal woe!

Her bosom, like the humid rose, No youth shall then be wan or weak, Her neck, like dewy-sparkling snows, For dimpling health shall light the Illume the liquid path she traces, cheek;

And burn within the stream's em. No heart shall then desponding sigh,

braces ! For wine shall bid despondence fly! In languid luxury soft she glides, Thus—till another autumn's glow Encircled by the azure tides, Shall bid another vintage flow! Like some fair lily, faint with weep

ing,
Upon a bed of violets sleeping !
Beneath their queen's inspiring glance,

The dolphins o'er the green
ODE LVII.

dance,

Bearing in triumph young Desire, AND whose immortal hand could And baby Love with smiles of fire ! shed

While, sparkling on the silver waves, Upon this disk the ocean's hed 13 The tenants of the briny caves And, in a frenzied flight of soul, Around the pomp in eddies play, Sublime as Heaven's eternal pole, And gleam along the watery way.

sea

I Madame Dacier thinks that the poet here had There are a few blemishes in the reading of the nepenthé of Homer in his min 1.-Odyssey, the ode before us, which have influenced Faber, lib. iv. This nepenthé was a something of exqui. Heyne, Brunck, etc., to denounce the whole poe a site charm, infused by Helea into the wine of her as spurious. Non eyo pancis offendar maculis. guests, which had the power of dispelling every I think it is beautiful enough to be authenanxiety. A French writer, with very elegant tic. gallantry, conjectures that this spell, which made 3 The abruptness of αρα τις τορευσε ποντον is the bowl so beguiling, was the charm of Helen's finely expressive of sudden adiniration, and is one conversation, de Meré, quoted by Bayle, of those beauties which we cannot but admire art Helène.

in their source, though by frequent imitation 3 This ode is a very animated description of a they are now become languid and unimprespicture of Venus on a discus, which represented sive. the goddess in her first emergence from the • The pioture here has all the delicate character waves, About two centuries after our poet of the semi-reducta Venus, and is the sweetest wrote, the pencil of the artist A pelles embellished emblem of what the poetry of passion ought to this subject, in his famous painting of the Venus be; glowing but through a voil, and stealing Anadyomené, the model of which, as Pliny in- upon the heart from concealment. Few of the forms us, was the beautiful Campaspe, given to ancients have attained this modesty of descrip him by Alexander; though, according to Natalis tion, which is, like the golden cloud that huma Comes, lib. vii. cap. 16, it was Phryne who sat over Jupiter and Juno, impervious to every bean to Abelles for the face and breast of this Venus. but that of fancy.

ODE LVIII,

They tainted all his bowl of blisses, When gold, as fleet as Zephyr's pinion, Oh ! fly to haunts of sordid men,

His bland desires and hallowed kisses." Escapes like any faithless minion, And flies me (as he flies me ever), 8

But rove not near the bard again ; Do I pursue him ? never, never !

Thy glitter in the Muse's shade No, let the false deserter go,

Scares from her bower the tuneful maid; For who would court his direst foe?

And not for worlds would I forego But when I feel my lightened mind

That moment of poetic glow, No more by ties of gold confined,

When my full soul, in Fancy's stream, I loosen all my clinging cares,

Pours o'er the lyre its swelling theme. And cast them to the vagrant airs,

Away, away! to worldlings hence, Then, then I feel the Muse's spell,

Who feel not this diviner sense, And wake to life the dulcet shell;

And, with thy gay fallacious blaze, The dulcet shell to beauty sings,

Dazzle their unrefined gaze.
And love dissolves along the strings !
Thus, when my heart is sweetly taught
How little gold deserves a thought,
The winged slave returns once more,

ODE LIX.5
And with him wafts delicious store
Of racy wine, whose balmy art SABLED by the solar beam,
In slumber seals the anxious heart ! Now the fiery clusters teem,
Again be tries my soul to sever

In osier baskets, borne along
From love and song, perhaps for ever! By all the festal vintage throng
Away, deceiver ! why pursuing Of rosy youths and virgins fair,
Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing? Ripe as the melting fruits they bear.
Sweet is the song of amorous fire;

Now, now they press the pregnant Sweet are the sighs that thrill the lyre ; grapes, Oh ! sweeter far than all the gold And now the captive stream escapes, The waftage of thy wings can hold, In fervid tide of nectar gushing, I well remember all thy wiles ; And for its bondage proudly blushThey withered Cupid's flowery smiles, ing! And o'er bis harp such garbage shed, While, round the vat's impurpled brim, I thought its angel breath was fled ! The choral song, the vintage hymn

"I have followed Barnes' arrangement of this Cæli, Lesbia nostra, Lesbia illa, ode; it deviates somewhat from the Vatican MS., Illa Lesbia, quam Catullus unam, but it appeared to me the more natural order,

Plus quam ne atque suos amavit omnes, * There is a kind of pun in these words, as Nunc, etc. Madame Dacier has already remarked; for Si sic omnia dixisset! but the rest does not bear Chrysos, which signifies gold, was also a fre citation. quent name for a slave. In one of Lucian's

• Original: dialogues there is, I think, a similar play upon

Φιληματων δε κεδνων, , the word, where the followers of Chrysippus are

Ποθων κυπελλα κιρνης" called golden fishes. The puns of the ancients are in general even more vapid than our own;

Horace has, Desiderique temperare poculum ;' some of the best are those recorded of Diogenes' not figuratively, however, like Anacreon, but imhas already been taken notice of. Though some vourite gallantry among the ancients, of drinking Aa 8, att de bevyet. This grace of iteration porting the love-philtres of the witches. By

cups of kisses' our poet may allude to & tatimes merely a playful beauty, it is peculiarly when the lips of their mistresses had touched repressive of'impassioned sentiment, and we may the brim : easily believe that it was one of the many sources

Or leave a kiss within the cup, of that energetic sensibility which breathed

And I'll not ask for wine. through the style of Sappho. See Gyrald. Vet. Post. Drial. 9. It will not be said that this is a s Degen, in the true spirit of literary sceptimechanical ornament by any one who can feel cism, doubts that this ode is genuine, with it its charm in those lines of Catullus, where he assigning any reason for such a suspicion. Non complains of the infidelity of his mistress, amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare;' but Lesbia:

this is far from satisfactory criticism.

Of rosy youths and virgins fair, And though no glorious prize be thine,
Steals on the cloyed and panting air. No Pythian wreath around thee twine,
Mark, how they drink, with all their Yet every hour is glory's hour,
eyes,

To him who gathers wisdom's flower ! The orient tide that sparkling flies ; Then wake thee from thy magic slumThe infant balm of all their fears,

bers, The infant Bacchus, born in tears ! Breathe to the soft and Phrygian numWhen he, whose verging years decline bers, As deep into the vale as mine,

Which, as my trembling lips repeat, When he inhales the vintage spring, Thy chords shall echo back as sweet. His heart is fire, his foot's a wing; The cygnet thus, with failing notes, And, as he flies, his hoary hair As down Cayster's tide he floats, Plays truant with the wanton air ! Plays with his snowy plumage fair While the warm youth, whose wishing Upon the wanton murmuring air, soul

Whicb amorously lingers round, Has kindled o'er the inspiring bowl, And sighs responsive sound for sound Impassioned seeks the shadowy grove, Muse of the Lyre! illume my dream, Where, in the tempting guise of love, Thy Phoebus is my fancy's theme; Reclining sleeps some witching maid, And hallowed is the barp I bear, Whose sunny charms, but half dis. And hallowed is the wreath I wear, played,

Hallowed by him, the god of lays, Blush through the bower, that, closely Who modulates the choral maze ! twined,

I sing the love which Daphne twiued Excludes the kisses of the wind ! Around the godhead's yielding mind ; The virgin wakes, the glowing boy I sing the blushing Daphne's flight Allures her to the embrace of joy ; From this æthereal youth of light; Swears that the herbage heaven has And how the tender, timid maid spread

Flew panting to the kindly shade, Was sacred as the nuptial bed ; Resigned a form, too tempting fair, That laws should never bind desire, And grew a verdant laurel there ; And love was nature's holiest fire ! Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill, The virgin weeps, the virgin sighs ; In terror seemed to tremble still ! He kissed her lips, he kissed her eyes ; The god pursued, with winged desire ; The sigh was balm, the tear was dew, And when his hopes were all on fire, They only raised his flame anew. And when he thought to hear the sigh And, oh I he stole the sweetest flower With which enamoured virgins die, That ever bloomed in any bower! He only heard the pensive air

Whispering amid ber leafy hair ! Such is the madness wine imparts, But oh, my soul ! no more-no more! Whene er it steals on youthful hearts. Enthusiast, whither do I soar ?

This sweetly maddening dream of soul

Has hurried me beyond the goal.
ODE LX.?

Why should I sing the mighty darts

Which fly to wound celestial hearts, AWAKE to life, my dulcet shell, When sure the lay, with sweeter tone, To Phæbus all thy sighs shall swell ; Can tell the darts that wound my own?

· This hymn to Apollo is supposed not to have believe there could dwell such animation in his been written by Anacreon, and it certainly is lyre? Suidas says that our poet wrotc hymns, rather a sublimer flight than the Teian wing is and this perhaps is one of them. We can peraccustomed to soar. But we ought not to judge ceive in what an altered and imperfect state his from this diversity of style, in a poet of whom works are at present, when we find a scholiast time has preserved snch partial relics. If we upon Horace citing an ode from the third book knew Horace but as a satirist, should we easily ) of Anacreon.

Still be Anacreon, still inspire

Withering age begins to trace The descant of the Teian lyre :

Sad memorials o'er my face ; Still let the nectared numbers float,

Time has shed its sweetest bloom, Distilling love in every note !

All the futnre must be gloom ! And when the youth, whose burning This awakes my hourly sighing;

Dreary is the thought of dying !* Has felt the Paphian star's control, Pluto's is a dark abode,

Sad the journey, sad the road : His heart will flutter to his ear, And, the gloomy travel o'er, Add drinking there of song divine, Ah! we can retirp no more !5 Banqueton intellectual wine !

soul

opon an

to me.

error.

ODE LXI.

ODE LXII.6 GOLDEN hues of youth are fled ;

FILL me, boys, as deep a draught Hoary locks deform my head.

As e'er was filled, as e'er was quaffed ; Bloomy graces, dalliance gay,

But let the water amply flow, All the flowers of life decay.3

To cool the grape's intemperate glow ;) MS., whose authority confirms the genuine an. I Here ends the last of the odes in the Vatican And wasts from our enamoured arms

The banquet's mirth, the virgin's charnis. tiquity of them all, though a few have stolen

* Regnier, a libertine French poet, has written among the number which we may hesitate in some sonnets on the approach of death, full of attributing to Anacreon. In the little essay pre- gloomy and trembling repent:nce. Chaulieu,

1 had quoted this manuscript in orrectly, relying the epicurean philosopher. See his poem, adhad taken: I shall just mention two or three in

imperfect copy of it, which Isaac Vossius dressed to the Marquis La Farre: stances of this inaccuracy, the first which occur

Plus j'approche du terme et moins je le redoute, etc. In the ode of the Dove, on the words I shall leave it to the moralist to make his reΠτεροισι συγκαλυψω, he says, Vatican MS. flections here: it is impossible to be very Ananoklaswv, etiam Prisciano invito,' though the creontic on such a subject. MIS, reads aykalvyw, with ovokladw interlined.

5 Scaliger, upon Catullus' well-known lines, Degen, too, on the same line, is somewhat in 'Qui nunc it per iter,' etc., remarks that Acheron,

In the twenty-second ode of this series, with the same idea, is called avefodos by 'Theoline thirteenth, the MS. has tens with su inter: critus, and

evoexopouos by Nicander. lined, and Barnes imputes to it the reading of

, are to be found

in Athenæus, book n., and which Alannuevn 8' en aum, while the latter has has combined into one. I think this a very mises to have preserved the reading of the ws: Barves, from the similarity of their tendency, ahaanuevos 8 en avta, Almost all the other anno. justifiable liberty, and have adopted it in some The intrusion of this melancholy ode among

here to verses of Cz, lib. iv. der 7 rinker. the careless levities of our poet, has always re

7 It was Amphictyon who first taught the

Greeks to mix water with their wine ; in comme ested to hang up in their banquet-rooms to in: moration of which circumstance they cerected dissipations of mirth. If it were not for the mythological allegory the following epigram is

thought of mortality even amidst the altars to Bacchus and the nymphs. On this beauty of its numbers, the Teian Muse should founded :disown this ode. Quid habet illius, illius quæ Ardentem ex utero Semeles lavere Lyæum

Naiades, extincto fulminis igne sacri; To Stobaus we are indebted for it.

Cum nymphis igitur tractabilis, at sine nymphs i Horace often, with feeling and elegance, de

Candenti rursus fulmine corripitur. plores the fugacity of human enjoyments. See book ii, ode ll; and thus in the second epistle, Which is, non verbum verbo,

-Pierius Valerianua.

While heavenly fire consumed his Theban dames Singola de nobis anni prædantur eantes, A Naiad caught young Bacchus from the flame, Eripuere jocos, venerem, convivia, ludum. And dipped him burning in her purest lymph:

Still, still he loves the sea-maid's crystal urn, The wing of every passing day

And when his native fires infuriate hurn, Withers some blooming joy away

He bathes him in the fountain of the nymph.

a

spirabat amores?

book ii. :

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