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I'll gather Joy's luxuriant flowers,

And gild with bliss my fading hours;
How I lovo the festive boy,

Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom,
Tripping through the dance of joy!

And Venus dance me to the tomb !
How I love the mellow sage,
Smiling through the veil of age !
And whene'er this man of years

In tho dance of joy appears,

When Spring adorns the dewy sceno,
Snows may o'er his head be flung,

How sweet to walk the velvet green,
But his heart—his heart is young.'

And hear the west wind's gentle sighs,
As o'er the scented mead it flies !

How sweet to mark the pouting vine,

Ready to burst in tears of wine ;
I KNOW that Heaven hath sent me here

And with some maid, who breathes but love, To run this mortal life's career;

To walk, at noontide, through the grove," The scenes which I havo journey'd o'er,

Or sit in some cool, green recess
Return no more-alas! no more;

Oh, is not this true happiness ?
And all the path I've yet to go,
I neither know nor ask to know.
Away, then, wizard Care, nor think

Thy fetters round this soul to link;
Never can heart that feels with me

Yes, be the glorious revel mine,
Descend to be a slave to theo !

Where humor sparkles from the wine. And oh! before the vital thrill,

Around me, let the youthful choir Which trembles at my heart, is still,

Respond to my enlivening lyre ; | Snows may o'er his head be flung,

in which he makes him promulgate the precepts of good felBut his heart-his heart is young.) Saint Pavin makes lowship even from the tomb. the same distinction in a sonnet to a young girl.

Πολλακι μεν

τοδ' αεισα, και εκ τυμβου δε βοησω,
Je sais bien que les destinées

Πινετε, πριν ταυτην αμφιβαλησθε κοντιν.
Ont mal compassé nos années ;

This lesson oft in life I sung,
Ne regardez que mon amour;

And from my grave I still shall ery,
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.

4 And with some maid, who breathes but love,
Fair and young thou bloomest now,

To walk, at noontide, through the grove.) Thus Horace:
And I full many a year have told;

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

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

Quæ me surpuerat mihi. Lib. iv. Carm. 13.
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,
When first I set my eyes on thee!

And stole me from myself away? ? Never can heart that feels rith me

5 The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly deDescend to be a slave to thee!) Longepierre qnotes here an epigram from the Anthologia, on account of the similarity with a warmth, amiable and endearing. Among the epi

picted. His love of social, harmonized pleasures, is expressed of a particular phrase. Though by no means anacreontic, it

grams imputed to Anacreon is the following; it is the only is marked by an interesting simplicity which has induced me

one worth translation, and it breathes the saine sentiments to para phrase il, and may atone for its intrusion.

with this ode: Ελπις και συ τυχη μεγα χαιρετε. τον λιμεν' εύρον Ουόεν εμοι α' υμιν, παιζετε τους μετ' εμε.

Ου φιλος, ός κρητηρι παρα πλεω οινοποταζων,

Νεικεα και πολεμων δακρυοεντα λεγει.
At length to Fortune, and to you,

Αλλ' όστις Μουσεων τε, και αγλαα δωρ' Αφροδιτης
Delusive Hope! a last adieu.

Συμμισγων, ερατης μνησκεται ευφροσυνης.
The charm that once beguiled is o'er,
And I have reach'd my destined shore.

When to the lip the brimming cup is press'd,
Away, away, your flattering arts

And hearts are all afloat upon its streami,
May now betray some simpler hearts,

Then banish from my board th' unpolish'd guest,
And you will smile at their believing,

Who makes the feats of war his barbarous theme.
And they shall weep at your deceiving !

But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes 3 Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom,

The Muse's laurel with the Cyprian flower; And Venus dance me to the tomb !) The same commen Oh! give me him, whose soul expansive breathes tator has quoted an epitaph, written upon our poet by Julian, And blends refinement with the social hour.

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And while the red cup foams along,
Mingle in soul as well as song.
Then, while I sit, with flow'rets crown'd,
To regulate the goblet's round,
Let but the nymph, our banquet's pride,
Be seated smiling by my side,
And earth has not a gift or power
That I would envy in that hour.
Envy !-oh never let its blight
Touch the gay hearts met here to-night.
Far hence be slander's sidelong wounds,
Nor harsh disputes, nor discord's sounds
Disturb a scene, where all should be
Attuned to peace and harmony.

Somo airy nymph, with graceful bound,
Keeps measure to the music's sound;
Waving, in her snowy hand,
The leafy Bacchanalian wand,
Which, as the tripping wanton flies,
Trembles all over 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 oh, the sadness in his sigh,
As o'er hia iip the acconts die !
Norer sure on earth has been
Half so bright, so blest a scene.
It seems a Love himself had coro
To make this spot his chosen home;'-
And Venus, too, with all her wiles,
And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles,
All, all are here, to hail with me
The Genius of Festivity !*

Come, let us hear the harri's gay nets
Upon the breeze inspiring fisat,
While round us, kindling into love,
Young maidons through tho light danco move.
Thus blest with mirth, an love, and peace,
Sure such a life should zover cease!



While our rosy fillets sheel
Freshness 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 raptures from its strings,'

Buds of roses, virgin flowers,
Culld 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 wino;
Drink and smile, and learn to think
That we were born to smile and drink

1 And while the harp, impassion'd, flings

The kiss that she left on my lip, Tuneful rapture from its strings, &c.) Respecting the bar

Like a dewdrop shall lingering lie; biton a host of authorities may be collected, which, after all,

"Twas nectar she gave me to sip, leave us ignorant of the nature of the instrument. There is

'Twas nectar I drank in her sigh. scarcely any point upon which we are so totally uninformed

From the moment she printed that kiss, as the music or the ancients. The authors* extant upon the

Nor reason, nor rest has been mine; subject are, I gine, little understood; and certainly if one

My whole soul has been drunk with the bliss, of their moods was a progression by quarter-tones, which we

And feels a delirium divine ! are told was the nature of the enharmonic scale, simplicity was by no means the characteristic of their melody; for this 3 It seems as Love himself had come is a nicety of progression of which modern music is not sus To make this spot his chosen home ;-) The introduction ceptible.

of these deities to the festival is merely allegorical. Madame The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenæus, attributed Dacier thinks that the poet describes a masquerade, where to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it is called to these deities were personated by the company in masks. The cópnua rou AvaxpeOvtUs. Neanthes of Cyzicus, as quoted translation will conform with either idea. by Gyraldus, asserts the same. Vide Chabot, in Horat. on * All, all are here, to hail with me the words “ Lesboum barbiton," in the firs od

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

mirth. Philostratus, in the third of his pictures, gives a very * And oh, the sadness in his sigh, As o'er his lip the accents die !) Longepierre has quoted lively description of this god.

s This spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose; and again, in here an epigram from the Anthologia :

the fifty-fifth ode, we shall find our author rich in the praises Κουρη τις μ' εφιλησε ποθεστερα χειλεσιν υγροις. .

of that flower. In a fragment of Sappho, in the romance of Νεκταρ εην το φιλημα. το γαρ στομα νεκταρος επνει.

Achilles Tatius, to which Barnes refers us, the rose is fanciΝυν μεθυω το φιλημα, πολυν τον ερωτα πεπωκως.

fully styled "the eye of flowers ;" and the same poetess, in

another fragment, calls the favors of the Muse “the roses of of which the following paraphrase may give some idea : Pieria." See the notes on the fifty-fifth ode.

"Compare with this ode (says the German annotator) the • Collected by Meibomius.

beautiful ode of Uz, 'die Rose.'

Rose, thou art the sweetest flower

But wisely quaff the rosy wave, That ever drank the amber shower;

Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave; Rose, thou art the fondest child

And in the goblet, rich and deep,
Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild.

Cradle our crying woes to sleep.
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, sister Graces,

Behold, the young, the rosy Spring, The wanton winding dance he traces.'

Gives to the breeze her scented wing; Then bring me, showers of roses bring,

While virgin Graces, warm with May, And shed them o'er me while I sing,

Fling roses o'er her dewy way." Or while, great Bacchus, round thy shrine,

The murmuring billows of the deep
Wreathing my brow with rose and vine,

Have languish'd into sånt sleep ;*
I lead some bright nymph through the dance, And mark! the flitting sea-birds lave
Commingling soul with every glance.

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,' Within this goblet, rich and deep,

Aro freshly glittering in his beam.
I cradle all my woes to sleep.
Why should we breathe the sigh of foar,

Now the earth prolific swells
Or pour the unavailing tear?

With leafy buds and flowery bells ; For death will never heed the sigh,

Gemming shoots the olive twine, Nor soften at the tearful eye;

Clusters ripe festoon the vine ; And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep,

All along the branches creeping, Must all alike be seal'd in sleep.

Through the velvet foliage peeping, Then let us never vainly stray,

Little infant fruits we see, In search of thorns, from pleasure's way;'

Nursing into luxury. 1 When with the blushing, sister Graces,

There is a simple and poetical description of Spring, in The wanton roinding dance he traces.] "This sweet idea

Catullus's beautiful farewell to Bithynia. Carm. 44. of Love dancing with the Graces, is almost peculiar to An Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, that this nde acreon."-Degen.

was written after he had returned from Athens, to settle in ? I lead some bright nymph through the dance, &c.) The his paternal seat at Teos; where, in a little villa at some epithet BaOvvoltos, which he gives to the nymph, is literally distance from the city, commanding a view of the Ægean “full-bosomed."

Sea and the islands, he contemplated the beauties of nature 3 Then let us never vainly stray,

and enjoyed the felicities of retirement. Vide Barnes, in In search of thorns, from pleasure's way; &c.) I have Anac. Vita, o xxxy. This supposition, however unauthenthus endeavored to convey the meaning of re dc Tov Bror ticated, forms a pleasing association, which renders the poem adavwuar; according to Regnier's paraphrase of the line : more interesting.

Chevreau says, that Gregory Nazianzenus has paraphrased
E che val, fuor della strada
Del piacere alma e gradita,

somewhere this description of Spring; but I cannot meet

with it. See Chevreau, Euvres Mélées. Vaneggiare in questa vita ?

“Compare with this ode (says Degen) the verses of Hage * The fastidious affectation of some commentators has dedorn, book fourth, der Frühling,' and book fifth, 'der Mai.'" nounced this ode as spurious. Degen pronounces the four 6 While virgin Graces, warm with May, last lines to be the patchwork of some miserable versificator, and Brunck condemns the whole ode. It appears to me, on soda Bpvovoir, " the roses display their graces.” This is not

Fling roses o'er her dewy way.] De Pauw reads, Xapetas the contrary, to be elegantly graphical; full of delicate ex

uningenious; but we lose by it the beauty of the personifipressions and luxuriant imagery. The abruptness of Ide aws cation, to the boldness of which Regnier has rather frivocapos pavevtos is striking and spirited, and has been imitated lously objected. rather languidly by Horace :

6 The murmuring billows of the deep Vides ut alta stet nive candidum

Have languish'd into silent sleep; &c.] It has been justly Soracte

remarked, that the liquid flow of the line analvultai padnun The imperative or is infinitely more impressive ;-as in

is perfectly expressive of the tranquillity which it describes. Shakspeare,

? And cultured field, and winding stream, &c.) By Bporwr

Epya, “ the works of men,” (says Baxter,) he means cities, But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,

temples, and towns, which are then illuminated by the Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.

beams of the sun.

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But brandishing a rosy flask, &c.) Ackos was a kind of

Altri segua Marte fero; leathern vessel for wine, very much in use, as should seem

Che sol Bacco è 'l mio conforto. by the proverb ασκος και θυλακος, which was applied to those who were intemperate in eating and drinking. This

* This, the preceding ode, and a few more of the same proverb is mentioned in some verses quoted by Athenæus, character, are merely chansons à boire :-the effusions probfrom the Hesione of Alexis.

ably of the moment of conviviality, and afterwards sung, we

may imagine, with rapture throughont Greece. Bat that ? The only thyrsus e'er rll ask!) Phornutus assigns as a

interesting association, by which they always recalled the reason for the consecration of the thyrsus to Bacchus, that Inebriety often renders the support of a stick very necessary.

convivial emotions that produced them, can now be little felt

even by the most enthusiastic reader; and much less by a * loy leates my brou entwining, &c.] “The ivy was con- phlegmatic grammarian, who sees nothing in thein but diasecrated to Bacchus, (says Montfaucon,) because he formerly lects and particles. lay hid under that tree, or, as others will have it, because its leaves resemble those of the vine." Other reasons for o Who, with the sunshine of the bowl, its consecration, and the use of it in garlands at banquets, Thaws the winter of our soul-&c.] Avalos is the title may be found in Longepierre, Barnes, &c. &c.

which he gives to Bacchus in the original. It is a curious 4 Arm ye, arm ye, men of right,

circumstance that Plutarch mistook the name of Levi among Hasten to the sanguine fight;] I have adopted the inter the Jews for Acii, (one of the bacchanal cries,) and accordpretation of Regnier and others

ingly supposed that they worshipped Bacchus.


When wine I quaff, before my eyes
Dreams of poetic glory rise ;-
And freshen'd by the goblet's dews,
My soul invokes the heavenly Muse.
When wine I drink, all sorrow's o'er;
I think of doubls and fears no more ;
But scatter to the railing wind
Each gloomy phantom of the mind.
When I drink wine, th' ethereal boy,
Bacchus himself, partakes my joy ;
And while we dance through vernal bowers,
Whose ev'ry breath comes fresh from flowers,
In wine he makes my senses swim,
Till the galo breathes of naught but him!

Bright shapes, of every hue and form,
Upon my kindling fancy swarm,
Till the whole world of beauty seems
To crowd into my dazzled dreams!
When thus I drink, my heart refines,
And rises as the cup declines ;
Rises in the genial flow,
That none but social spirits know,
When, with young revellers, round the bowl,
The old themselves grow young in soul !*
Oh, when I drink, true joy is mine,
There's bliss in every drop of wine.
All other blessings I have known,
I scarcely dared to call my own;
But this the Fates can ne'er destroy,
Till death o'ershadows all my joy.

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Again I drink, and, lo, there seems
A calmer light to fill my dreams;
The lately ruffled wreath I spread
With steadier hand around my head;
Then take the lyre, and sing “how blest
The life of him who lives at rest !"
But then comes witching wine again,
With glorious woman in its train ;
And, whilo rich perfumes round me riso,
That seem the breath of woman's sighs,

Fly not thus my brow of snow,
Lovely wanton! fly not so.
Though the fans of age is mine,
Though youth's brilliant flush bo thino,
Still I'm doom'd to sigh for thee,
Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me!

1 Faber thinks this ode spurious; but, I believe, he is

Or this: singular in his opinion. It has all the spirit of our author.

Indi ml mena Like the wreath which he presented in the dream, “it

Mentre lieto ebro, deliro, smells of Anacreon."

Baccho in giro The form of the original is remarkable. It is a kind of

Per la vaga aura serena. song of seven quatrain stanzas, each beginning with the line 'OT' εγω πιω τον πινον. .

* When, with young revellers, round the borol, The first stanza alone is incomplete, consisting but of

The old themselves grow young in soul!] Subjoined to three lines.

Gail's edition of Anacreon, we find some curious letters upon Compare with this poem (says Degen) the verses of

the Otacou of the ancients, which appeared in the French Hagedorn, lib. v., der Wein,' where that divine poet has

Journals. At the opening of the Odéon in Paris, the man wantoned in the praises of wine."

agers of that spectacle requested Professor Gail to give them ? When wine I quaff, before my eyes

some uncommon name for their fêtes. He suggested the Dreams of poetic glory rise ;] - Anacreon is not the only questioned the propriety of the term, and addressed their

word “Thiase," which was adopted; but the literati of Paris one (says Longepierre) whom wine has inspired with poetry. We find an epigram in the first book of the Anthologia,

criticisms to Gail through the medium of the public prints. which begins thus :

6 Alberti has imitated this ode; and Capilupus, in the fol-
Οινος του χαριεντι μεγας πελει ιππος αοιδω, , lowing epigram, has given a version of it:-
Υδωρ δε πινων, καλον ου τεκoις επος.
If with water you fill up your glasses,

Cur, Lalage, mea vita, meos contemnis amores ?
You'll never write any thing wise;

Cur fugis e nostro pulchra puella sinu ?
For wine's the true horse of Parnassus,

Ne fugias, sint sparsa licet mea tempora canis,
Which carries a bard to the skies!

Inque tno roseus fulgeat ore color. 3 And while we dance through vernal bowers, &c.) If some

Aspice ut intextas deceant quoque flore corollas of the translators had observed Doctor Trapp's caution,

Candida purpureis lilia mista rosis.
with regard to solvavocou l' ev aupais, “Cave ne cælum in Oh! why repel my soul's impassion d vow,
telligas," they would not have spoiled the simplicity of And fly, beloved maid, these longing arms ?
Anacreon's fancy, by such extravagant conceptions as the Is it, that wintry time has strew'd my brow,
following: -

While thine are all the summer's rosea te charms ?
Quand je bois, mon æil s'imagine

See the rich garland cull'd in vernal weather,
Que, dans un tourbillon plein de parfums divers,

Where the young rosebnd with the lily glows,
Bacchus m'emporte dans les airs,

So, in Love's wreath we both may twine together,
Rempli de sa liqueur divine.

And I the lily be, and thou the rose.

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