Her hand with skill th' embroider'd rein controls; Back fly the streets, as swift the chariot rolls. Along the wheel-worn road they hold their way, The domes retreat, the sinking towers decay: Bare to the knee succinct a damsel train Behind attends, and glitters tow'rd the plain. As when her limbs divine, Diana laves In fair Parthenius, or th' Amnesian waves, Sublime in royal state the bounding roes Whirl her bright car along the mountain brows; Swift to her fane in pomp the goddess moves; The nymphs attend that haunt the shady groves, Th' Amnesian fount, or silver-streaming rills; Nymphs of the vales, or Oreads of the hills! The fawning beasts before the goddess play, Or, trembling, savage adoration pay : Thus on her car sublime the nymph appears, The crowd falls back, and as she moves reveres ; Swift to the fane aloft her course she bends; The fane she reaches, and to earth descends: Then to her train-" Ah me! I fear we stray, Misled by Folly to this lonely way! Alas! should Jason with his Greeks appear, Where should we fly? I fear, alas, I fear! No more the Colchian youths, and virgin train, Haunt the cool shade, or tread in dance the plain: But since alone ;-with sports beguile the hours, Come chamt the song, or pluck the blooming flowers: Pluck every sweet, to deck your virgin bowers!" Then warbling soft, she lifts her heavenly voice; But sick with mighty love, the song is noise; She hears from every note a discord rise, Till, pausing, on her tongue the music dies; She hates each object, every face offends, In every wish, her soul to Jason sends; With sharpen'd eyes the distant lawn explores, To find the object whom her soul adores: At every whisper of the passing air,
She starts, she turns, and hopes her Jason there; Again she fondly looks, nor looks in vain; He comes, her Jason shines along the plain. As when, emerging from the watery way, Refulgent Sirius lifts his golden ray, He shines terrific! for his burning breath Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death; Such to the nymph approaching Jason shows, Bright author of unutterable woes; Before her eyes a swimming darkness spread, Her flush'd cheek glow'd, her very heart was dead; No more her knees their wonted office knew, Fix'd, without motion, as to earth she grew : Her train recedes; the meeting lovers gaze In silent wonder, and in still amaze : As two fair cedars on the mountain's brow, Pride of the groves! with roots adjoining grow; Erect and motionless the stately trees
Awhile remain, while sleeps each fanning breeze, Till from th' Folian caves a blast unbound [sound; Bends their proud tops, and bids their boughs re- Thus gazing they, till by the breath of love Strongly at length inspir'd, they speak, they move: With smiles the love-sick virgin he survey'd, And fondly thus addrest the blooming maid:
Whom wouldst thou fly? Stay, lovely virgin, stay! Speak every thought! far hence be fears away! Speak! and be truth in every accent found! Dread to deceive! we tread on hallow'd ground'. By the stern power who guards this sacred place, By the illustrious authors of thy race;
By Jove, to whom the stranger's cause belongs, To whom the suppliant, and who feels the wrongs; O guard me, save me, in the needful hour! Without thy aid, thy Jason is no more; To thee a suppliant, in distress I bend, To thee a stranger, and who wants a friend! Then, when between us seas and mountains rise, Medea's name shall sound in distant skies; All Greece to thee shall owe her heroes fates, And bless Medea through her hundred states. The mother and the wife, who now in vain Roll their sad eyes fast-streaming o'er the main, Shall stay their tears; the mother and the wife Shall bless thee for a son's or husband's life! Fair Ariadne, sprung from Minos' bed, Sav'd the brave Theseus, and with Theseus fled, Forsook her father, and her native plain, And stemm'd the tumults of the surging main Yet the stern sire relented, and forgave The maid, whose only crime it was to save: Ev'n the just gods forgave: and now on high A star she shines, and beautifies the sky : What blessings then shall righteous Heaven decree For all our heroes sav'd, and sav'd by thee! Heaven gave thee not, to kill, so soft an air, And Cruelty sure never look'd so fair!"
He ceas'd; but left so charming on her ear His voice, that listening still she seem'd to hear: Her eye to earth she bends with modest grace, And Heaven in smiles is open'd in her face. A glance she steals; but rosy blushes spread O'er her fair cheek, and then she drops her head A thousand words at once to speak she tries; In vain-but speaks a thousand with her eyes: Trembling, the shining casket she expands, Then gives the magic virtue to his hands; And had the power been granted to convey Her heart--had given her very heart away.
Digne succendi meliore flammâ !— Sive Clarissam', Juvenumvè curam Philliden mavis, placeatvè, quondam
7 Temple of Hecate.
s Obeso fuit corpore.
Tres elegantes apud Cantabrigiam puellæ.
SIXTEEN ODES OF ANACREON.
THE wealth of Gyges I despise ; Genis are useless glittering toys. Gold I leave, and such vain things, To the low aim and pride of kings.
Let my hair with unguents flow, With rosy garlands crown my brow! The present moment I enjoy,
Doom'd in the next, perhaps, to die!
Then, while the hour serenely shines; Toss the gay die, and quaff thy wines; But ever, in the genial hour, To Bacchus the libation pour, Lest Death in wrath approach, and cry, "Man-taste no more the cup of Joy."
THE POWER OF BEAUTY.
SOME sing of Thebes, and some destroy In lofty numbers haughty Troy. I mourn, alas! in plaintive strains, My own captivity and chains!
No navy, rang'd in proud array,
No foot, no horseman, arm'd to slay, My peace alarm! Far other foes,
Far other hosts, create my woes:
Strange, dangerous hosts, that ambush'd lie In every bright love-darting eye! Such as destroy, when beauty arms To conquer, dreadful in its charms!
TO HIS MITRESS. THE gods o'er mortals prove their sway, And steal them from themselves away: Transform'd by their almighty hands, Sad Niobe an image stands; And Philomel, up-born on wings Through air, her mournful story sings Would Heaven, indulgent to my vow, The happy change I wish, allow; The envy'd mirror I would be, That thou might'st always gaze on me; And could my naked heart appear, Thou 'dst see thyself-for thou art there! O! were I made thy folding vest, That thou might'st clasp me to thy breast! Or turn'd into a fount, to lave Thy naked beauties in my wave! Thy bosom-cincture I would grow, To warm those little hills of snow; Thy ointment, in rich fragrant streanis To wander o'er thy beauteous limbs ; Thy chain of shining pearl-to deck, And close embrace thy graceful neck: A very sandal I would be
'To tread on-if trod on by thee!
3 First published in the Gentleman's Magazine; and afterwards inserted in the translations of Anaoreon, published by Mr. Fawkes.
I, peaceful 1, no falchion wield; I bend no bow, I poise no shield. The flowery garlan! crowns my hairs, My hand the powerful goblet bears; The powerful goblet, nobly brave, I drain, and then 'tis sweet to rave
ATAS! alas! I see each day Steals me from myself away; 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. How many years are still in store, I neither can, nor would explore. Then, since the hours incessant fly, They all shall find me crown'd with joy. To those, my cares I here bequeath, Who meanly die for fear of death, And daily with assiduous strife Contrive to live, accurs'd with life.
Then, Care, begone! I'd dance and play; Hence, with thy serious face away! I'll laugh, and whilst gay wine inflames, I'll court the laughter-loving dames; And study to resign my breath In extasy, and smile in death.
BRING me, O bring th' enlivening Iraught, Lenient of grief, and anxious thought. Then Care retires, asham'd to show His downcast eye, and faded brow. I banish business to the great,
To all that curse, yet covet state.
Death hastes amain: then who would run To meet what most he strives to shun? Or antedate the dreadful day
By cares, and aid the fiend to slay? If tears could bribe his dreadful powers, I'd weep, and bless the precious showers; But let our lot be joy or woe,, Alike he speeds to strike the blow.
Then crown the bowl!-ye sorrows, fly To kill some wretch who wants to die.
THE PLEASING FRENZY.
Now bring, by all the powers divine, Bring me a bowl of rosy wine; 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 Raving shed his mother's blood. Dreadful, sober madmen, they !— None, harmless drunkard, none I slay: The blood of grapes I only crave; I quaff it, and 'tis sweet to rave.
Alcides, frantic, grasp'd his bow; His quiver rattled, stor'd with woe: Stern Ajax shook his glittering blade, And broad his sevenfold shield display'd: Dangerous madman! how he drew His sword, and hosts in fancy slew !
TALK not to me of pedant rules; I leave debates to learned fools, Who solemnly in form advise; At best, impertinently wise!
To me more pleasing precepts give, And teach the science how to live; To bury in the friendly draught
Sorrows that spring from too much thought To learn soft lessons from the fair, How life may glide exempt from care.
Alas! I'm old! I see my head With hoary locks by Time o'erspread: Then instant be the goblet brought, To make me young-at least in thought. Alas! incessant speeds the day When I must mix with common clay; When I must tread the dismal shore, And dream of love and wine no more.
SEE, Winter's past! the seasons bring Soft breezes with returning Spring; At whose approach the Graces wear Fresh honours in their flowing hair: The raging Seas forget to roar, And, smiling, gently kiss the shore: The sportive duck, in wanton play, Now dives, now rises into day; The cranes from freezing skies repair, And sailing float to warmer air : Th' enlivening Suns in glory rise, And gaily dance along the skies.
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 : Blest juice! already I in thought Quaff an imaginary draught.
GIVE me Homer's tuneful lyre, Let the sound my breast inspire! But with no troublesome delight Of arms, and heroes slain in fight: Let it play no conquests here, Or conquests only o'er the fair!
Boy, reach that volume-book divine; The statutes of the god of wine! He, legislator, statutes draws; And I, his judge, enforce his laws; And, faithful to the weighty trust, Compel his vot❜ries to be just: Thus round, the bowl impartial flies, Till to the sprightly dance we rise;
We frisk it with a lively bound, Charm'd with the lyre's harmonious sound: Then pour forth, with an heat divine, Rapturous songs that breathe of wine.
THE HAPPY EFFECTS OF WINE.
SEE! See the jolly god appears; His hand a mighty goblet bears: With sparkling wine full-charg'd it flows, The sovereign cure of human woes.
Wine gives a kind release from care, And courage to subdue the fair; Instructs the cheerful to advance Harmonious in the sprightly dance: Hail, goblet! rich with generous wines! See! round the verge a vine-branch twines. See! how the mimic clusters roll, As ready to re-fill the bowl!
Wine keeps its happy patients free From every painful malady; Our best physician all the year: Thus guarded, no disease we fear, No troublesome disease of mind, Until another year grows kind, And loads again the fruitful vine, And brings again our health-
GRAPES; OR THE VINTAGE.
Io! the vintage now is done! And black'ned with th' autumnal Sun The grapes, gay youths and virgins bear, The sweetest product of the year! In vats the heavenly load they lay, And swift the damsels trip away: The youths alone the wine-press tread, For wine 's by skilful drunkards made : 'Mean time the mirthful song they raise, Io! Bacchus, to thy praise!
And, eying the blest juice, in thought Quaff an imaginary draught.
Gaily, through wine, the old advance, And doubly tremble in the dance: In fancy'd youth they chaunt and play, Forgetful that their locks are grey.
Through wine, the youth completes his loves; He haunts the silence of the groves: Where, stretch'd beneath th' embowering shade, He spies some love-inspiring maid: On beds of rosy sweets she lies, Inviting sleep to close her eyes: Fast by her side his limbs he throws, Her hand he presses-breathes his vows; And cries," My love, my soul, comply This instant, or, alas! I die."
In vain the youth persuasion tries! In vain!-her tongue at least denies : Then scorning Death through dull despair, He storms th' unwilling willing fair; Blessing the grapes that could dispense The happy, happy impudence.
COME, lyrist, tune thy harp, and play Responsive to my vocal lay:
Gently touch it, while I sing The Rose, the glory of the Spring.
To Heaven the Rose in fragrance flies, The sweetest incense of the skies. Thee, joy of Earth, when vernal hours Pour forth a blooming waste of flowers, The gaily-smiling Graces wear, A trophy in their flowing hair. Thee Venus queen of beauty loves, And, crown'd with thee, more graceful moves In fabled song, and tuneful lays, Their favourite Rose the Muses praise: To pluck the Rose, the virgin-train With blood their pretty fingers stain, Nor dread the pointed terrours round, That threaten, and inflict a wound: See how they wave the charming toy, Now kiss, now snuff the fragrant joy!
The Rose the poets strive to praise And for it would exchange their bays; O! ever to the sprightly feast Admitted, welcome, pleasing guest! But chiefly when the goblet flows, And rosy wreaths adorn our brows!
Lovely smiling Rose, how sweet The object where thy beauties meet! Aurora, with a blushing ray, 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 Cytherea's cheeks.
When pain afflicts, or sickness grieves, Its juice the drooping heart relieves; And, after death, its odours shed A pleasing fragrance o'er the dead; And when its withering charms decay, And sinking, fading, die away, Triumphant o'er the rage of Time, It keeps the fragrance of its prime.
Come, lyrist, join to sing the birth Of this sweet offspring of the Earth!
When Venus from the Ocean's bed Rais'd o'er the waves her lovely head; When warlike Pallas sprung from Jove, Tremendous to the powers above; To grace the world, the teeming Earth Gave the fragrant infant birth, And "This," she cry'd, "I this ordain My favourite, queen of flowers to reign!" But first th' assembled gods debate The future wonder to create: Agreed at length, from Heaven they threw A drop of rich, nectareous dew; A bramble-stem the drop receives, And strait the Rose adorns the leaves. The gods to Bacchus gave the flower, To grace him in the genial hour.
WHEN sprightly youths my eyes survey, I too am young, and I am gay; In dance my active body swims, And sudden pinions lift my limbs.
Haste, crown, Cybaba, crown my brows With garlands of the fragrant rose!
Hence, hoary age!-I now am strong, And dauce, a youth among the young.
Come then, my friends, the goblet drain! Blest juice!-I feel thee in each vein! See! how with active bounds I spring! How strong, and yet, how sweet, I sing! How blest am I! who thus excel In pleasing arts of trifling well!
THE stately steed expressive bears A mark imprinted on his hairs: The turban that adorns the brows Of Asia's sons, the Parthian shows: And marks betray the lover's heart, Deeply engrav'd by Cupid's dart : I plainly read them in his eyes, That look too foolish, or too wise.
ALAS! the powers of life decay! My hairs are fall'n, or chang'd to grey! The smiling bloom, and youthful grace, Is banish'd from my faded face! Thus man beholds, with weeping eyes, Himself half-dead before he dies.
For this, and for the grave, I fear, And pour the never-ceasing tear! A dreadful prospect strikes my eye; I soon must sicken, soon must die. For this the mournful groan I shed; I dread-alas! the hour I dread! What eye can stedfastly survey Death, and its dark tremendous way? For soon as Fate has clos'd our eyes, Man dies for ever, ever dies! All pale, all senseless in the urn! Never, ah! never to return.
ONCE more, not uninspir'd, the string I waken, and spontaneous sing:
No Pythic laurel-wreath I claim, That lifts Ambition into fame: My voice unbidden tunes the lay: Some god impels, and I obey. Listen, ye groves!-The Muse prepares A sacred song in Phrygian airs; Such as the swan expiring sings, 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 Phobus sing: To Phabus and the Muse belong The laurel, lyre, and Delphic song.
Begin, begin the lofty strain! How Phoebus lov'd, but lov'd in vain; How Daphne fled his guilty flame, And scorn'd a god that offer'd shame. With glorious pride his vows she hears; And Heaven, indulgent to her prayers, To laurel chang'd the nymph, and gave Her foliage to reward the brave.
Ah! how, on wings of Love convey'd, He flew to clasp the panting maid! Now, now o'ertakes!-but Heaven deceives His hope-he seizes only leaves.
Why fires my raptur'd breast? ah! why, Ah! whither strives my soul to fly? I feel the pleasing frenzy strong, Impulsive to some nobler song: Let, let the wanton fancy play; But guide it, lest it devious stray.
But oh! in vain, my Muse denies Her aid, a slave to lovely eyes. Suffice it to rehearse the pains Of bleeding nymphs, and dying swains; Nor dare to wield the shafts of Love, That wound the gods, and conquer Jova
I yield! adieu the lofty strain! I am Anacreon once again: Again the melting song I play, Attemper'd to the vocal lay: See! see! how with attentive cars The youths imbibe the nectar'd airs! And quaff, in lowery shades reclin'd, My precepts, to regale the mind.
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