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Whatever decks the velvet field,
Whate'er the circling seasons yield,
Whatever buds, whatever blows,
For thee it buds, for thee it grows.
Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear,
To him thy friendly notes are dear;
For thou art mild as matin dew,
And still, when summer's flowery hue
Begins to paint the bloomy plain,
We hear thy sweet prophetic strain;
Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear,
And bless the notes and thee revere!
The Muses love thy shrilly tone;
Apollo calls thee all his own;

'T was he who gave that voice to thee, 'T is he who tunes thy minstrelsy. Unworn by age's dim decline,

The fadeless blooms of youth are thine.
Melodious insect! child of earth!
In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth;
Exempt from every weak decay,
That withers vulgar frames away;
With not a drop of blood to stain
The current of thy purer vein;
So blest an age is pass'd by thee,
Thou seem'st a little deity!

ODE XXXV.1

CUPID once upon a bed

Of roses laid his weary head;

grasshoppers which sing, and that the females are silent; and on this circumstance is founded a bon-mot of Xenarchus, the comic poet, who says είτ' εισιν οι τεττιγες ουκ ευδαι μόνες, ων ταις γυναιξιν ουδ' οτι ουν φωνής ενί ; ' are not the grasshoppers happy in having dumb wives?" This note is originally Henry Stephen's; but I chose rather to make Madame Dacier my authority for it.

The Muses love thy shrilly tone, etc.] Phile, de Animal. Proprietat. calls this insect Mouras cos, the darling of the Muses; and Move opviv, the bird of the Muses; and we find Plato compared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, in the following punning lines of Timon, preserved by Diogenes Laertius:

Των παντων δ' ηγείτο πλατυστατος, αλλ' αγορητής Ηδυεπης τεττιξιν ισογράφος, οι δ' εκάδημου

Δενδρες εφεζομενοι οπα λειριοεσσαν ιείσι.

This last line is borrowed from Homer's Iliad, λ. where there occurs the very same simile.

Melodious insect! child of earth!] Longepierre has quoted the two first lines of an epigram of Antipater, from the first book of the Anthologia, where he prefers the grasshopper to the swan:

Αρκει τεττιγας μεθυσαι δροσος, αλλα πιοντες
Αείδειν κύκνων εισι γεγωνότεροι.

In dew, that drops from morning's wings,
The gay Cicada sipping floats;
And, drunk with dew, his matin sings
Sweeter than any cygnet's notes.

1 Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his nineteenth idyl, but is very inferior, I think, to his original, in delicacy of point, and naïveté of expression. Spenser in one of his smaller compositions, has sported more diffusely on the same subject. The poem to which I allude begins thus:

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering

All in his mother's lap;

A gentle bee, with his loud trumpet murmuring, About him flew by hap, etc.

Luckless urchin not to see
Within the leaves a slumbering bee!
The bee awaked-with anger wild
The bee awaked and stung the child.
Loud and piteous are his cries;
To Venus quick he runs, he flies!
"Oh mother!-I am wounded through-

I die with pain-in sooth I do!
Stung by some little angry thing,
Some serpent on a tiny wing-
A bee it was-for once, I know,
I heard a rustic call it so."
Thus he spoke, and she the while
Heard him with a soothing smile;
Then said, "My infant, if so much
Thou feel the little wild bee's touch,
How must the heart, ah, Cupid! be,
The hapless heart that 's stung by thee!"

ODE XXXVI.

If hoarded gold possess'd a power To lengthen life's too fleeting hour,

creon, where Love complains to his mother of being wounded by a rose.

The ode before us is the very flower of simplicity. The infantine complainings of the little god, and the natural and impressive reflections which they draw from Venus, are beauties of inimitable grace. I hope I shall be pardoned for introducing another Greek Anacreontic of Monsieur Menage, not for its similitude to the subject of this ode, but for some faint traces of this natural simplicity which it appears to me to have preserved:

Ερως ποτ' εν χορείαις
Των παρθένων αυτον
Την μοι φιλην Κορίνναν
Ως ειδέν, ως προς αυτην
Προσέδραμε τραχηλω
Δίδυμος τε χειρας απτων
Φίλει με, μητερ, είπε.
Καλούμενη Κόριννα
Μήτηρ, ερυθριάζει,
Ως παρθενος μεν ούσα.
Κ' αυτός δε δυσχεραίνων,
Ως όμμασι πλανήσεις,
Ερως ερυθριάζει.

Εγω δε οι παραστάς,
Μη δυσχεραινέ, φημι.
Κυπριν τε και Κορίνναν
Διαγνώσαι ουκ έχουσι
Και οι βλεποντες οξυ.

As dancing o'er the enamell'd plain,
The flow'ret of the virgin train,
My soul's Corinna, lightly play'd,
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid,
He saw, and in a moment flew,
And round her neck his arms he threw;
And said, with smiles of infant joy,
"Oh! kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy!"
Unconscious of a mother's name,
The modest virgin blush'd with shame!
And angry Cupid, scarce believing
That vision could be so deceiving,
Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame,
The little infant blush'd with shame.
"Be not ashamed, my boy," I cried,
For I was lingering by his side;
"Corinna and thy lovely mother,
Believe me, are so like each other,
That clearest eyes are oft betray'd,
And take thy Venus for the maid."

Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has translated this ode of Anacreon.

1 Monsieur Fontenelle has translated this ode, in his diaIn Almeloveen's collection of epigrams, there is one by logue between Anacreon and Aristotle in the shades, where Luxorius, correspondent somewhat with the turn of Ana-1 he bestows the prize of wisdom upon the poet.

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 minion,
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 !"

ODE XXXVII.1

"T WAS night, and many a circling bowl Had deeply warm'd my swimming soul;

"The German imitators of it are, Lessing, in his poem Gestern Brüder, etc.' Gleim, in the ode 'An den Tod,' end Schmidt in der Poet. Blumenl. Gotting. 1783, p. 7."Degen.

That when the Fates would send their minion,

To waft me off on shadowy pinion, etc.] The commentators, who are so fond of disputing "de lana caprina," have been very busy on the authority of the phrase ιν' αν θανειν επελθη. The reading of iv' αν Θανατος επελόη, which De Medenbach proposes in his Amanitates Litterariæ, was already hinted by Le Fevre, who seldom suggests any thing worth notice.

The goblet rich, the board of friends,

Whose flowing souls the goblet blends!] This communion of friendship, which sweetened the bowl of Anacreon, has not been forgotten by the author of the following scholium, where the blessings of life are enumerated with proverbial simplicity. Υγιαίνειν μεν αριστον ανδρι θνήτω. Δεύτερον δε, καλόν φυήν γενεσθαι. Το τρίτον δε, πλουτειν αδόλως. Και το τεταρτον, συνήθων μετά των φίλων.

Of mortal blessings here, the first is health,

And next, those charms by which the eye we move; The third is wealth, unwounding, guiltless wealth, And then, an intercourse with those we love!

'der

1 "Compare with this ode the beautiful poem, Traum of Uz.'"-Degen. Monsieur Le Fevre, in a note upon this ode, enters into an elaborate and learned justification of drunkenness; and this is probably the cause of the severe reprehension which I believe he suffered for his Anacreon. Fuit olim fateor (says he, in a note upon Longinus,) cum Sapphonem amabam. Sed ex quo illa me perditissima fœmina pene miserum perdidit cum sceleratissimo suo congerrone (Anacreontem dico, si nescis Lector,) noli sperare," etc. etc. He adduces on this ode the authority of Plato, who allowed ebriety, at the Dionysian festivals, to men arrived at their fortieth year. He likewise quotes the following line from Alexis, which he says no one, who is not totally ignorant of the world, can hesitate to confess the truth of:

Ουδεις φιλοποτης εστιν ανθρωπος κακος. "No lover of drinking was ever a vicious man."

-when all my dream of joys,

Dimpled girls and ruddy boys,

ODE XXXVIII.'

LET us drain the nectar'd bowl,
Let us raise the song of soul
To him, the god who loves so well
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell!
Him, who instructs the sons of earth
To thrid the tangled dance of mirth;
Him, who was nursed with infant Love,
And cradled in the Paphian grove;
Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms
Has fondled in her twining arms.
From him that dream of transport flows,
Which sweet intoxication knows;
With him the brow forgets to darkle,
And brilliant graces learn to sparkle.
Behold! my boys a goblet bear,
Whose sunny foam bedews the air.
Where are now the tear, the sigh?
To the winds they fly, they fly!
Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking,
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking!

Εγρόμενος δε

Παρθενον ουκ' εκιχήσε, και ηθελεν αυθις ιαύειν.
Waking, he lost the phantom's charms,
He found no beauty in his arms;

Again to slumber he essay'd,

Again to clasp the shadowy maid! Longepierre.

"Sleep! again my joys restore,

Oh! let me dream them o'er and o'er!] Doctor Johnson, in his preface to Shakspeare, animadverting upon the commentators of that poet, who pretended, in every little coincidence of thought, to detect an imitation of some ancient poet, alludes in the following words to the line of Anacreon before us: "I have been told that when Caliban, after a pleasing dream, says, 'I tried to sleep again,' the author imitates Anacreon, who had, like any other man, the same wish on the same occasion."

1 "Compare with this beautiful ode the verses of Hagedorn, lib. v. das Gesellschaftliche; and of Bürger, p. 51," etc. etc.-Degen.

Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms

Has fondled in her twining arms.] Robertellus, upon the epithalamium of Catullus, mentions an ingenious derivation of Cythera, the name of Venus, παρα το κεύθειν τους

All were gone!] Nonnus says of Bacchus, almost in the sporas, which seems to hint that "Love's fairy favours are

same words that Anacreon uses,

I lost, when not concealed."

ODE XL.

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!

ODE XLI.

WHEN Spring begems the dewy scene,
How sweet to walk the velvet green,
And hear the Zephyr's languid sighs,
As o'er the scented mead he flies!
How sweet to mark the pouting vine,
Ready to fall in tears of wine';
And with the maid whose every sigh
Is love and bliss, entranced to lie
Where the embowering branches meet-
Oh! is not this divinely sweet?

No, no, the heart that feels with me,

Can never be a slave to thee!] Longepierre quotes an epigram here from the Anthologia, on account of the similarity of a particular phrase; it is by no means anacreontic, but has an interesting simplicity which induced me to paraphase it, and may atone for its intrusion.

Ελπις, και συ, τυχή, μέγα χαιρετε. τον λιμεν' ευρον.
Ουδεν έμοι χ' υμιν, παίζετε τους μετ' εμέ.

At length to Fortune, and to you,
Delusive Hope! a last adieu.
The charm that once beguiled is o'er,
And I have reach'd my destined shore!
Away, away, your flattering arts

May now betray some simpler hearts,
And you will smile at their believing,

And they shall weep at your deceiving!

Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom,

And Venus dance me to the tomb!] The same commentator has quoted an epitaph, written upon our poet by Julian where he makes him give the precepts of good-fellowship

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,

"T is 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!

ODE XXXIX.

How I love the festive boy,
Tripping with the dance of joy!
How I love the mellow sage,
Smiling through the veil of age!
And whene'er this man of years
In the dance of joy appears,
Age is on his temples hung,

But his heart-his heart is young!

No, no, the walk of life is dark,

'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 the Anthologia:

Λουσάμενοι, Προδική, πυκασωμεθα, και τον ακρατο
Ελκωμεν, κυλικας μείζονας αραμένοι.
Ραιος ο χαίροντων εστι βιος, είτα τα λοιπα
Γηρας κωλύσει, και το τέλος θάνατος.

Of which the following is a loose paraphrase:

Fly, my beloved, to yonder stream,

We'll plunge us from the noontide beam!
Then cull the rose's humid bud,
And dip it in our goblet's flood.
Our age of bliss, my nymph, shall fly
As sweet, though passing, as that sigh
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip,
"Come, while you may, of rapture sip."
For age will steal the rosy form,
And chill the pulse, which trembles warm!
And death-alas! that hearts, which thrill
Like yours and mine, should e'er be still!

Age is on his temples hung,

But his heart-his heart is young'] Saint Pavin makes even from the tomb. he same distinction in a sonnet to a young girl.

Je sais bien que les destinées

Ont mal compassé nos années;
Ne regardez que mon amour.
Peut-être en serez vous émue:
Il est jeune, et n'est que du jour,
Belle Iris, que je vous ai vue.

Fair and young, thou bloomest now,
And I full many a year have told;
But read the heart and not the brow,

Thou shalt not find my love is old.

My love 's a child; and thou canst say
How much his little age may be,
For he was born the very day
That first I set my eyes on thee!

Πολλακι μεν τοδ' αεισα, και εκ τυμβου δε βοήσω Πίνετε, πριν ταυτην αμφιβάλησθε κονιν.

This lesson oft in life I sung,

And from my grave I still shall cry,
"Drink, mortal! drink, while time is young,
Ere death has made thee cold as I."

And with the maid, whose every sigh
Is love and bliss, etc.] Thus Horace:
Quid habes illius, illius
Quæ spirabat amores,
Quæ me surpuerat mihi.

And does there then remain but this,
And hast thou lost each rosy ray
Of her, who breathed the soul of bliss,
And stole me from myself away?

ODE XLII.'

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!

ODE XLIII.

WHILE our rosy fillets shed
Blushes 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 rapture from the strings,

1 The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly depicted. His love of socia, harmonized pleasures is expressed with a warmth, amiable and endearing. Among the epigrams imputed to Anacreou is the following; it is the only one worth translation, and it breathes the same sentiments with this ode:

Ου φίλος, ος κρητήρι παρα πλέω οινοποτάζων,
Νέικες και πολέμου δάκρυθέντα λέγει.

Αλλ' οστις Μουσέων τε, και αγλαα δόρ Αφροδίτης
Ευμμισγων, ερατης μνήσκεται ευφροσύνης.

When to the lip the brimming cup is press'd,

And hearts are all afloat upon the stream,
Then banish from my board the unpolish'd guest
Who makes the feats of war his barbarous theme.

But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes
The Muse's laurel with the Cyprian flower:
Oh give me him whose heart expansive breathes
All the refinements of the social hour.

And while the harp, impassion'd, flings Tuneful rapture from the strings, etc.] On the barbiton a host of authorities may be collected, which, after all, leave us ignorant of the nature of the instrument. There is scarcely any point upon which we are so totally uninformed as the music of the ancients. The authors (a) extant upon the subject are, I imagine, little understood; but certainly if one of their moods was a progression by quartertones, which we are told was the nature of the enharmonic scale, simplicity was by no means the characteristic of their

(a) Collected by Meibomius.

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'd 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!

ODE XLIV.'

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 susceptib.e.

The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenæus, attributed to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it is called T εύρημα του Ανακρέοντος, Neanthes of Cyzicus, us quoted by Gyraldus, asserts the same. Vide Chabot, in Horat on the words "Lesboum barbiton," in the first ode.

And then, what nectar in his sigh,

As o'er his lip the murmurs die!] Longepierre bas quoted here an epigram from the Anthologia:

Κουρη τις μ' εφίλησε ποίεσπερα χείλεσιν υγροις.
Νέκταρ την το φίλημα, το γαρ στομα νέκταρος έπνει
Νυν μέσω το φιλημα, πολυν τον έρωτα πεπωκως.
Of which the following may give some idea:
The kiss that she left on my lip

Like a dew-drop shall lingering lie;
'Twas nectar she gave me to sip,
'Twas nectar I drank in her sigh!
The dew that distill'd in that kiss,
To my soul was voluptuous wine;
Ever since it is drunk with the bliss,
And feels a delirium divine!

Has Cupid left the starry sphere,

To wave his golden tresses here?] The introduction of these deities to the festival is merely allegorical. Madame Dacier thinks that the poet describes a masquerade, where these deities were personated by the company in masks. The translation will conform with either idea.

All, all here, to hail with me

The Genius of Festivity!] Kopos, the deity or genius of mirth. Philostratus, in the third of his pictures (as all the annotators have observed) gives a very beautiful description of this god.

1 This spirited poem is an eulogy on the rose; and again, in the fifty-fifth ode, we shall find our author rich in the praises of that flower. In a fragment of Sappho, in the romance of Achilles Tatius, to which Barnes refers us, the rose is very elegantly styled "the eye of flowers;" and the same poetess, in another fragment, calls the favours of the Muse "the roses of Pieria." See the notes on the fiftyfifth ode.

"Compare with this forty-fourth ode (says the German annotator) the beautiful ode of Uz, die Rose."

1

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 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,
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 XLV.

WITHIN this goblet, rich and deep,
I cradle all my woes to sleep.

Why should we breathe the sigh of fear,
Or pour the unavailing tear?

For Death will never heed the sigh,
Nor soften at the tearful eye;
And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep,
Must all alike be seal'd in sleep;
Then let us never vainly stray,

In search of thorns, from pleasure's way;
Oh! let us quaff the rosy wave

Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave;
And in the goblet, rich and deep,
Cradle our crying woes to sleep!

ODE XLVI.'

SEE, the young, the rosy Spring,
Gives to the breeze her spangled wing;

When with the blushing, naked Graces, The wanton winding dance he traces.] "This sweet idea of Love dancing with the Graces, is almost peculiar to Anacreon."-Degen.

With some celestial, glowing maid, etc.] The epithet Babuxoxos, which he gives to the nymph, is literally "fullbosomed:" if this was really Anacreon's taste, the heaven of Mahomet would suit him in every particular. See the Koran, cap. 72.

Then let us never vainly stray,

In search of thorns from Pleasure's way, etc.] I have thus endeavoured to convey the meaning of T SE TOV Bov vwμ; according to Regnier's paraphrase of the line:

E che val, fuor della strada Del piacere alma e gradita, Vaneggiare in que ta vita?

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Have languish'd into silent sleep, etc.] It has been justly remarked that the liquid flow of the line ¤¤λVETI 1 The fastidious affectation of some commentators has is perfectly expressive of the tranquillity which it denounced this ode as spurious. Degen pronounces the four last lines to be the patch-work of some miserable versificator; and Brunck condemns the whole ode. It appears to me to be elegantly graphical; full of elegant expressions and luxurious imagery. The abruptness of 18s ws expos QavsToS is striking and spirited, and has been imitated. rather languidly by Horace:

Vides ut alta stet nive candidum Soracte

The imperative de is infinitely more impressive, as in Shakspeare,

But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high 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 his paternal seat at Teos; there, in a little villa at some distance from the city, which commanded a view of the Ægean Sea and the islands, he contemplated the beauties of nature, and enjoyed the felicities of retirement. Vide Barnes, in Anac. vita. xxxv. This supposition, however unauthenticated, forms a pleasant association, which makes the poem more interesting.

Monsieur Chevreau says, that Gregory Nazianzenus has paraphrased somewhere this description of Spring. I cannot find it. See Chevreau, Euvres Mêlées.

"Compare with this ode (says Degen) the verses of Hagedorn, book fourth, der Frühling, and book fifth, der Mai." While virgin Graces, warm with May,

Fling roses o'er her dewy way!] De Pauw reads, XxpoTas poda Epuovσv, "the roses display their graces." This is not uningenious; but we lose by it the beauty of the personification, to the boldness of which Regnier has objected very frivolously.

The murmuring billows of the deep

describes.

And cultured field, and winding stream, etc.] By Spo Tv Epya, "the works of men," (says Baxter,) he means cities, temples, and towns, which are then illuminated by the beams of the sun.

But brandishing a rosy flask, etc.] Arxos was a kind of leathern vessel for wine, very much in use, as should seem by the proverb ασκος και θυλακος, which was applied to those who were intemperate in eating and drinking. This

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