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I, peaceful 1, no falchion wield;

I bend no bow, I poise no shield.

The flowery garland crowns my hairs,

My hand the powerful goblet bears ; Alas! alas ! I see each day

The powerful goblet, nobly brave,
Steals me from myself away;

I drain, and then 'tis sweet to rave.
And every step of life I tread,
I speed to mingle with the dead.

How many years are past, my friends,
I know, and there my knowledge ends.

Talk not to me of pedant rules;
How many years are still in store,

I leave debates to learned fools, I neither can, nor would explore.

Who solemnly in form advise ; Then, since the hours incessant fly,

At best, impertinently wise ! They all shall find me crown'd with joy.

To me more pleasing precepts give, To those, my cares I here bequeath,

And teach the science how to live; Who meanly die for fear of death,

To bury in the friendly draught And daily with assiduous strife

Sorrows that spring from too much thoughts Contrive to live, accurs'd with life.

To learn soft lessons from the fair, Then, Carc, begone! I'd dance and play ; How life may glide exempt from care. Hence, with thy serious face au ay !

Alas! I'm old! I see my head I'll laugh, and whilst gay wine inflames,

With hoary locks by Time o'erspread: I'll court the laughter-loving dames ;

Then instant be the goblet brought, And study to resign my breath

To make me young--at least in thought In extasy, and smile in death.

Alas! incessant speeds the day
When I must mix with coinmon clay;

When I must tread the dismal shore,

And dream of love and wine no more.
Brixc me, O bring th’ enlivening draught,
Lenient of grief, and anxious thought.
Then Care retires, asham'd to show

His downcast eye, and faded brow.

See, Winter's past ! the seasons bring I banish business to the great,

Soft breezes with returning Spring; To all that curse, yet covet state.

At whose approach the Graces wear Death hastes amain: then who would run Fresh honours in their flowing hair : To meet what most he strives to shun?

The raging Seas forget to roar, Or antedate the dreadful day

And, smiling, gently kiss the shore : By cares, and aid the fiend to slay?

The sportive duck, in wanton play,
If tears could bribe his dreadful powers,

Now dives, now rises into day;
I'd weep, and bless the precious showers ; The cranes from freezing skies repair,
But let our lot be joy or woe,

And sailing float to warmer air:
Alike he speeds to strike the blow.

Th’enlivening Suns in glory rise, Then crown the bowl !-ye sorrows, fly

And gaily dance along the skies.
To kill some tretch who wants to die.

The clouds disperse; or if in showers
They fall, it is to wake the flowers :
See, verdure clothes the teeming Earth!

The olive struggles into birth :

The swelling grapes adorn the vine,

And kindly promise future wine : Now bring, by all the powers divine,

Blest juice ! already I in thought
Bring me a bowl of rosy wine;

Quaff an imaginary draught.
A mighty bowl of wine I crave:
When wine inspires, 'tis sweet to rave.

In frantic rage Alemæon drew
His falchion, and his mother slew :

Orestes in a furious mood

Give me Homer's tuneful lyre, Raving shed his mother's blood.

Let the sound my breast inspire !
Dreadful, sober madmen, they !

But with no troublesome delight
None, harmless drunkard, none 1 slay:
The blood of grapes I only crave;

Of arms, and heroes slain in fight:

Let it play no conquests here,
I quaff it, and 'tis sweet to rave.
Alcides, frantic, grasp'd his bow;

Or conquests only o'er the fair!

Boy, reach that volume--book divine; His quiver rattled, stor'd with woe :

The statutes of the god of wine !
Stem Ajax shook his glittering blade,
And broad his sevenfold shield display'd :

He, legislator, statutes draws;
Dangerous madman ! how he drew

And I, his judge, enforce his laws;

And, faithful to the weighty trust, His sword, and hosts in fancy slew !

Compel his vot'ries to be just :

Thus round, the bowl impartial Aies, • Eryphile.

$ Clytemnestra Till to the sprightly dance we rise;




We frisk it with a lively bound,

Gently touch it, while I sing Charm'd with the lyre's harmonious sound : The Rose, the glory of the Spring. Then pour forth, with an heat divine,

To Heaven the Rose in fragrance fies, Rapturous songs that breathe of wine.

The sweetest incense of the skies.
'Thee, joy of Earth, when vernal hours
Pour forth a blooming waste of Powers,

The gaily-smiling Graces wear,

A trophy in their Howing hair. Sre! see the jolly god appears;

Thee Venus queen of beauty loves, His hand a mighty goblet bears:

And, crownd with thee, more graceful moves. With sparkling wine full-charg'd it flows,

In fabled song, and tunefu) lays, The sovereign cure of human woes.

Their favourite Rose the Muses praise : Wine gives a kind release from care,

To pluck the Rose, the virgin-train And courage to subdue the fair;

With blood their pretty fingers stain, Instructs the cheerful to advance

Nor dread the pointed terrours round, Harmonious in the sprightly dance:

That threaten, and inflict a wound: Hail, goblet! rich with generous wines !

See! how they wave the charming toy, See! round the verge a vine-branch twincs. . Now kiss, now snuff the fragrant joy! See! how the mimic clusters roll,

The Rose the poets strive to praise As ready to re-fill the boal!

And for it would exchange their bays; Wine keeps its happy patients free

0! ever to the sprightly feast From every painful malady ;

Admitted, welcome, pleasing guest ! Our best physician all the year:

But chiefly when the goblet flows, Thus guarded, no disease we fear,

And rosy wreaths adorn our brows! No troublesome disease of mind,

Lovely smiling Rose, how sweet Until another year grows kind,

The object where thy beauties meet! And loads again the fruitful vine,

Aurora, with a blushing ray,
And brings again our health- -new wine.

And rosy fingers, spreads the day:
The Graces more enchanting show
When rosy blushes paint their snow ;

And every pleas'd beholder seeks

The Rose in Cytheræa's cheeks. lo! the vintage now is done!

When pain amicts, or sickness grieves, And black’ned with th' autumnal Sun

Its juice the drooping heart relieves; The grapes, gay youths and virgins bear,

And, after death, its odours shed The sweetest product of the year!

A pleasing fragrance o'er the dead; In vats the heavenly load they lay,

And when its withering charins decay, And swift the damsels trip away:

And sinking, fading, die away, The youths alone the wine-press tread,

Triumphant o'er the rage of Time, For wine 's by skilful drunkards made :

It keeps the fragrance of its priine. Mean time the mirthful song they raise,

Come, lyrist, join to sing the birth lo! Bacchus, to thy praise !

Of this sweet offspring of the Earth! And, eying the blest juice, in thought

When Venus from the Ocean's bed Quaff an imaginary draught.

Rais'd o'er the waves her lovely head; Gaily, through wine, the old advance,

When warlike Pallas sprung from Jove, And doubly tremble in the dance:

Tremendous to the powers above; In fancy'd youth they chaunt and play,

To grace the world, the teeming Earth
Forgetful that their locks are grey.

Gave the fragrant infant birth,
Through wine, the youth completes his loves; And “ This," she cry'd, “ I this ordain
He haunts the silence of the groves:

My favourite, queen of flowers to reign !"
Where, stretch'd beneath th' embowering shade, But first th' assembled gods debate
He spies some love-inspiring maid :

The future wonder to create: On beds of rosy sweets she lies,

Agreed at length, from Heaven they threw Inviting sleep to close her eyes :

A drop of rich, nectareous dew; Past by her side his limbs he throws,

A brainble-stem the drop receives,
Her hand he presses-breathes his vows;

And strait the Rose adorns the leaves.
And cries,
My love, my soul, comply

The gods to Bacchus gave the flower,
This instant, or, alas! I die.”,

To grace him in the genial hour.
In vain the youth persuasion tries!
In vain!-her tongue at least denies:
Then scorning Death through dull despair,
He storms tho unwilling willing fair ;
Blessing the grapes that could dispense

The happy, happy impudence.

When sprightly youths my eyes survey,

I too am young, and I am gay ;

In dance my active body swiins,

And sudden pinions lift my limbs.
Come, lyrist, tune thy harp, and play

Haste, crown Cybæba, crown my brows Responsive to my vocal lay:

With garlands of the fragrant rose !



Hence, hoary age!-- now am strong,

No Pythic laurel-wreath I claim, And dance, a youth among the young.

That lifts Ambition into fame: Come then, my friends, the goblet drain ! My voice unbidden tunes the lay: Blest juice !- I feel thee in each vein!

Some god impels, and I obey. See! how with active bounds I spring !

Listen, ye gruves !--The Muse prepares How strong, and yet, how sweet, I sing !

A sacred song in Phrygian airs; How blest am 1! who thus excel

Such as the swan expiring sings, In pleasing arts of tritling well!

Melodious by Cäyster's springs,

While listening winds in silence hear

And to the gods the music bear.

Celestial Muse! attend, and bring

Thy aid, while I thy Phoebus sing : The stately steed expressive bears

To Phoebus and the Muse belong A mark imprinted on bis hairs:

The laurel, lyre, and Delphic song. The turban that adorns the brows

Begin, begin the lofty strain ! Of Asia's sons, the Parthian shows :

How Phæbus lov’d, but lov'd in vain; And marks betray the lover's heart,

How Daphne fled his guilty flame, Deeply engrav'd by Cupid's dart :

And scorn'd a god that off r'd shame. I plainly read them in his eyes,

With glorious pride his vows she hears; That look tou foolish, or too wise.

And Heaven, indulgent to her prayers,
To laurel chang'd the nymph, and gave

Her foliage to reward the brave.
Alas! the powers of life decay!

Ah! how, on wings of Love convey'd, My hairs are fall'n, or chang'd to grey !

Jle flew to clasp the panting maid ! The smiling bloom, and youthful grace,

Now, now o'ertakes!—but Heaven deceives Is banish'd from my faded face!

His hope he seizes only leaves. Thus man beholls, with weeping eyes,

Why fires my raptur'd breast ? ah! why, Himself half-dead before he dies.

Ah! whither strives my soul to fly? For this, and for the grave, I fear,

I feel the pleasing frenzy strong, And pour the never-ceasing tear!

Impulsive to some nobler song: A dreadful prospect strikes my eye;

Let, let the wanton fancy play; I soon must sicken, soon must die.

But guide it, lest it devious stray. For this the mournful groan I shed;

But oh! in vain, my Muse denies I dread-alas! the hour I dread !

Her aid, a slave to lovely eyes. What eye can stedfastly survey

Suffice it to rehearse the pains Death, and its dark tremendous way?

Of bleeding nymphs, and dying swains; For soon as Fate has clos'd our eyes,

Nor dare to wield the shafts of Love, Man dies-for ever, ever dies !

That wound the gods, and conquer Jove. All pale, all senseless in the urn!

I yield! adieu the lofty strain ! Never, ah! never to return.

I am Anacreon once again :

Again the melting song I play,

Attemper'd to the vocal lay:

See! see! how with attentive ears

The youths imbibe the nectar'd airs !
Once more, not uninspir'd, the string

And quaff, in lowery shades reclin'd, I waken, and spontaneous sing :

My precepts, to regale the mind.

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