Μισθος του, το φίλαμα το Κυπρίδος, ην δ' αγάγης νιν,
Οι γυμνον το φίλαμα, τυ δ' ω ξενε, και πλέον έξεις.

Os him, who the haunts of my Cupid can show,
A kiss of the tenderest stamp I'll bestow,
But he, who can bring me the wanderer here,

Shall have something more rapturous, something more dear.
This something more, is the quidquid post oscula dulce of Secundus,
After this ode, there follow in the Vatican MS, these extraordinary |
lines:

Ηδυμέλης Ανακρέων
Ηδύμελης δε Σαπφω
Πινδαρικόν το δε μαι μέλος
Συγκέρασας τις εγχέον
Τα τρία ταύτα μοι δοκει
Και Διόνυσος εισελθων
Ka Ilaqin aap apoos

Και αυτός Έρως και επιειν.

These lines, which appear to me to have as little sense as metre, are most probably the interpolation of the transcriber.

1 The commentators who have endeavoured to throw the chains of precision over the spirit of this beautiful trifle, require too much from Anacreontic philosophy. Monsieur Gail very wisely thinks that the poet uses the epithet Mixain, because black earth absorbs moisture more quickly than any other; and accordingly he indulges us with an experimental disquisition on the subject. See Gail's notes,

One of the Capilupi has imitated this ode, in an epitaph on a

And then the dewy cordial gives
To every thirsty plant that lives.
The vapours, which at evening weep,
Are beverage to the swelling deep;
And when the rosy sun appears,
He drinks the ocean's misty tears.
The moon, too, quaffs her paly stream
Of lustre from the solar beam.

Then, hence with all your sober thinking!

Since Nature's holy law is drinking;
I'll make the laws of Nature mine,

And pledge the universe in wine!

ODE XXII.'

THE Phrygian rock, that braves the storm,
Was once a weeping matron's form;
And Progne, hapless, frantic maid,
Is now a swallow in the shade.

Ogilvie, in his Essay on the Lyric Poetry of the Ancients, in remarking upon the Odes of Anacreon, says, ■ In some of his pieces there is exuberance and even wildness of imagination; in that particularly which is addressed to a young girl, where he wishes alternately to be transformed to a mirror, a coat, a stream, a bracelet, and a pair of shoes, for the different purposes which he recites; this is mere sport and wantonness.

It is the wantonness, however, of a very graceful muse; ludit amabiliter. The compliment of this ode is exquisitely delicate, and so singular for the period in which. Anacreon lived, when the scale of love bad not yet been graduated into all its little progressive refinements, that if we were inclined to question the authenticity of the poem, we should find a much more plausible argument in the features of modern gallantry which it bears, than in any of those fastidious conjectures upon which some commentators have presumed so far. Degen thinks it spurious, and De Pauw pronounces it to be miserable. Longepierre and Barnes refer us to several imitations of this ode, from which I shall only select an epigram of Dionysius:

Είθ' ανεμος γενόμην, συ δε γε σειχουσα παρ' αυγας,
Στεθεα γυμνώσαις, και με πνέοντα λάβοις.
Είθε ῥοδον γενομην ὑποπορφυρον, όφρα με χερσιν
Αραμένη, κομίσαις σέθεσε χιονέοις.

Είθε κρινον γενομην λευκόχροον, οφρα με χερσιν
Αραμένη, μάλλον της χρονιας κορέσης.

I wish I could like zephyr steal

To wanton o'er thy mazy vest;
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom veil,

And take me panting to thy breast!

I wish I might a rose-bud grow,

And thou wouldst cull me from the bower, And place me on that breast of snow, Where I should bloom, a wintry flower!

I wish I were the lily's leaf,

To fade upon that bosom warm;

There I should wither, pale and brief,

The trophy of thy fairer form!

Allow me to add, that Plato has expressed as fanciful a wish in a distich preserved by Laertius:

Αστέρας εισαθρεις, αςήρ εμος. είθε γενοίμην

Ουρανος, ὡς πολλοις όμμασιν εις σε βλεπω

TO STELLA.

Why dost thou gare upon the sky?

Oh that I were that spangled sphere,

And every star should be an eye

To wonder on thy beauties here!

Apuleius quotes this epigram of the divine philosopher, to justify himself for his verses on Critias and Charious. See his Apology, where he also adduces the example of Anacreon; Fecere tamen et alii talia, et si vos ignoratis, apud Græcos Teius quidam, etc., etc.

Oh! that a mirror's form were mine, To sparkle with that smile divine; And, like my heart, I then should be Reflecting thee, and only thee!

Or were 1, love, the robe which flows O'er every charm that secret glows, In many a lucid fold to swim, And cling and grow to every limb! Oh! could I, as the streamlet's wave, Thy warmly-mellowing beauties lave, Or float as perfume on thine hair, And breathe my soul in fragrance there! I wish I were the zone that lies Warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs? Or like those envious pearls that show So faintly round that neck of snow; Yes, I would be a happy gem, Like them to hang, to fade like them. What more would thy Anacreon be? Oh! any thing that touches thee. Nay, sandals for those airy feet— Thus to be press'd by thee were sweet!

Could raise the breath of song sublime,
To men of fame, in former time.
But when the soaring theme I try,
Along the chords my numbers die,
And whisper, with dissolving tone,

« Our sighs are given to Love alone!»
Indignant at the feeble lay,

I tore the panting chords away,
Attuned them to a nobler swell,
And struck again the breathing shell;
In all the glow of epic fire,
To Hercules I wake the lyre!
But still its fainting sighs repeat,
«The tale of Love alone is sweet!»
Then fare thee well, seductive dream,
That mad'st me follow Glory's theme;
For thou, my lyre, and thou, my heart,
Shall never more in spirit part;
And thou the flame shalt feel as well
As thou the flame shalt sweetly tell!

But still its fainting sighs repeat,

The tale of Love alone is sweet!-] The word dITION in the original, may imply that kind of musical dialogue practised the ancients, in which the lyre was made to respond to the quest proposed by the singer. This was a method which Sappho nand, as are told by Hermogenes: «όταν την λυραν ερωτα Σαταν και όταν αυτή αποκρίνηται.» Περί Ιδιων. Τιμ. Αυτ

Henry Stephens has imitated the idea of this ode in the felleru lines of one of his prems

Provida dat cunctis Natura animantibus arma,

Et sua fœmincum possidet arma genus,

Ungulaque ut defendit equum, atque ut cornua taurum,
Armata est forma formina pulchra sua.

And the same thought occurs in those lines, spoken by Coris

Pastor Fido:

To man she gave the flame refined,
The spark of Heaven-a thinking mind!
And had she no surpassing treasure
For thee, oh woman! child of pleasure?
She gave thee beauty-shaft of eyes,
That every shaft of war outflies!
She gave thee beauty-blush of fire,
That bids the flames of war retire!
Woman! be fair, we must adore thee;
Smile, and a world is weak before thee!

ODE XXV.'

ONCE in each revolving year,
Gentle bird! we find thee here,
When Nature wears her summer-vest,
Thou comest to weave thy simple nest;
But when the chilling winter lowers,
Again thou seek'st the genial bowers
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile,
Where sunny hours of verdure smile.
And thus thy wing of freedom roves,
Alas! unlike the plumed loves,
That linger in this hapless breast,
And never, never change their nest!

To man she gave the flame refined,

The spark of Heaven—a thinking mind!] In my first attempt to translate this ode, I bad interpreted pornued, with Baxter and Barnes, as implying courage and military virtue, but I do not think that the gallantry of the idea suffers by the import which I have now given to it. For, why need we consider this possession of wisdom as exclusive? and in trach, as the design of Anaerean is to estimate the treasure of beauty, above all the rest which Nature has distributed, it is perhaps even refining upon the delicacy of the compliment, to prefer the radiance of female charms to the cold illumination of wisdom and prudence; and to think that women's eyes are

————the books, the academies,

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.

She gave thee beauty-shaft of eyes,

That every shaft of war outflies!] Thus Achilles Tatius: xaos οξύτερον τιτρώσκει βέλους, και δια των οφθαλμών εις την ψυχήν καταβρει. Οφθαλμος γαρ ὁδος ερωτική Travμati. Beauty wounds more swiftly than the arrow, and passes through the eye to the very soul, for the eye is the inlet to the wounds of love..

Woman be fair, we must adore thee;

Smile, and a world is weak before thee!] Longepierre's remark here is very ingenious: The Romans, says he, were so convinced of the power of beauty, that they used a word implying strength in the place of the epithet beautiful. Thus Plautus, act. 3, scene 2, Bacxhid, Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa.

Fortis, id est formosa,' say Servius and Nonius.»

This is another ode addressed to the swallow, Alberti has imitated both in one poem, beginning

Perch' io pianga al tuo canto
Rondinella importuna, etc.

Alas! unlike the plumed loves,
That linger in this hapless breast,

And never, never change their nest!] Thus Love is represented as a bird, in an epigram cited by Longepierre from the Authologia:

Ανει μοι δύνει μεν εν ουασιν ηχος έρωτος,

Όμμα δε σιγα πόθοις το γλυκύ δακρυ φέρει.

Still every year, and all the year,
A flight of loves engender here;
And some their infant plumage try,
And on a tender winglet fly;

While in the shell, impregn'd with fires,
Cluster a thousand more desires;
Some from their tiny prisons peeping,
And some in formless embryo sleeping.
My bosom, like the vernal groves,
Resounds with little warbling loves;
One urchin imps the other's feather,
Then twin-desires they wing together,
And still as they have learn'd to soar,
The wanton babies teem with more.
But is there then no kindly art,
To chase these Cupids from my heart?
No, no! I fear, alas! I fear
They will for ever nestle here!

ODE XXVI.

THY harp may sing of Troy's alarms,
Or tell the tale of Theban arms;
With other wars my song shall burn,
For other wounds my harp shall mourn.
"I was not the crested warrior's dart,
Which drank the current of my heart;
Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed,
Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed;
No-from an eye of liquid blue

A host of quiver'd Cupids flew;
And now my heart all bleeding lies
Beneath this army of the eyes!

ODE XXVII.3

We read the flying courser's name
Upon his side, in marks of flame;

'Tis Love that murmurs in my breast,
And makes me shed the secret tear;
Nor day nor night my heart has rest,
For night and day his voice I hear.
A wound within my heart I find,
And oh! 'tis plain where Love has been :
For still he leaves a wound behind,

Such as within my heart is seen.

Oh bird of Love! with song so drear,
Make not my soul the nest of pain;
Oh let the wing which brought thee here,
In pity waft thee hence again!

a The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. Compare also Weisse Scherz. Lieder. lib. iii. der Soldat.. Gail, Degen. No-from an eye of liquid blue,

A host of quiver'd Cupids flew.] Longepierre has quoted part of an epigram from the seventh book of the Anthologia, which has a fancy something like this:

Ου με λέληθας,

Τοξότα, Ζηνοφίλας όμμασι κρυπτόμενος. Archer Love! though slily creeping,

Well I know where thou dost lie;

I saw thee through the curtain peeping,

That fringes Zenuphelia's eye.

Ηδη που κραδίη γνωςος ένεςι τύπος,

Ω στανοί, μη και ποτ' εφιπτασθαι μεν έρωτες Οιδατ', αποπτηναι δ' ουθ' όσον ισχυετές

* This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican MS, but I have conformed to the editions in translating them separately.

Compare with this (says Degen) the poem of Ramder Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. P. 313.

218

ODE XXVIII.'

As in the Lemuian caves of fire,
The mate of her who nursed desire
Moulded the glowing steel, to form
Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm;
While Venus every barb imbues
With droppings of her honied dews;
And Love (alas! the victim-heart)
Tinges with gall the burning dart;
Once, to this Lemnian cave of flame,
The crested Lord of battles came;

'T was from the ranks of war he rush'd,
His spear with many a life-drop blush'd!
He saw the mystic darts, and smiled
Derision on the archer-child.

« And dost thou smile?» said little Love; Take this dart, and thou may'st prove,

And Love (alas! the victim-heart)

Tinges with gall the burning dart.] Thus Claudian

Labuntur gemini fontes, hic dulcis, amarus
Alter, et infusis corrumpit mella venenis,
Unde Cupidine as armavit fama sagittas.

In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall,
And one with honey flows, and one with gall;
In these, if we may take the tale from fame,
The son of Venus dips his darts of flame.

See the ninety-first emblem of Alciatus, on the close connexion which subsists between sweets and bitterness. Apes ideo pungunt (says Petronius) quia ubi dulce, thi et acidum invenies.

The allegorical description of Cupid's employment, in Horace, may vie with this before us in fancy, though not in delicacy:

---ferus et Cupido

Semper ardentes acuens sagittas

Coto cruenta.

And Cupid, sharpening all his fiery darts

Upon a whetstone stain'd with blood of hearts.

Secundus has borrowed this, but has somewhat softened the image by the omission of the epithet cruenta.

Fallor an ardentes acurbat cote sagittas. Eleg. t.

Περι του δειν φιλησαι.

Προς Πετρον Δανιήλα Ύεττον.
Μεγα θαύμα των αειδών
Χαριτων θαλος Ὑεττε,

Φιλέωμεν, ω ἑταιρε.
Φίλεησαν οἱ σοφίςαι.
Φίλευσε σεμνος ανήρ,

Το τέκνον του Σωφρονίσκου,
Σοφίης πατηρ άπασης.
Τι δ' ανευ γενοιτ' Έρωτος;
Ακόνη μεν επί ψυχής. (α)
Πτερύγεσσιν εις Ολυμπον
Κατακειμένους αναιρεί.
Βραδιας τετηγμένοισι
Βελέεσσι εξαγειρεία

Πυρί λαμπαδες φαεινῳ
Ρυπαρωτέρους καθαίρες.
Φιλέωμεν ουν,

'YETTE,

Φιλέωμεν, ο έταιρε.
Αδίκως δε λοιδορουντι

Αγίους έρωτας ήμων
Κακον εύξομαι το μουνον

Ίνα μη δύναιτ' εκείνος Φιλέειν τε και φιλεῖσθαι.

TO PETER DANIEL

повет.

Thou of tuneful bards the first,
Thou! by all the Graces nursed;
Friend! each other friend above.
Come with me, and learn to love.
Loving is a simple lore,

Graver men have learn'd before;
Nay, the boast of former ages,
Wisest of the wisest sages,
Sophroniseus' prudent son,
Was by Love's illusion won.
Oh how heavy life would move,
If we knew not how to love!
Love's a whetstone to the mind;
Thus 't is pointed, thus refined.
When the soul dejected lies,
Love can waft it to the skies;

When in languor sleeps the heart,
Love can wake it with his dart;

But surely 'tis the worst of pain,
To love and not be loved again!
Affection now has fled from earth,
Nor fire of genius, light of birth,
Nor heavenly virtue, çan beguile

From beauty's cheek one favouring smile.
Gold is the woman's only theme,
Gold is the woman's only dream.
Oh! never be that wretch forgiven-
Forgive him not, indignant Heaven!—
Whose grovelling eyes could first adore,
Whose heart could pant for sordid ore.
Since that devoted thirst began,
Man has forgot to feel for man;
The pulse of social life is dead,
And all its fonder feelings fled!
War too has sullied Nature's charms,
For gold provokes the world to arms!
And oh the worst of all its art,
I feel it breaks the lover's heart!

ODE XXX.'

Twas in an airy dream of night, I fancied, that I wing'd my flight On pinions fleeter than the wind, While little Love, whose feet were twined (I know not why) with chains of lead, Pursued me as I trembling fled; Pursued and could I e'er have thought?Swift as the moment I was caught! What does the wanton Fancy mean By such a strange, illusive scene? I fear she whispers to my breast, That you, my girl, have stolen my rest; That though my fancy, for a while, Has hung on many a woman's smile, I soon dissolved the passing vow, And ne'er was caught by Love till now!

ODE XXXI.2

ARM'D with hyacinthine rod (Arms enough for such a god),

When the mind is dull and dark,
Love can light it with his spark!
Come, oh! come then, let us haste
All the bliss of love to taste;
Let us love both night and day,
Let us love our lives away!
And when hearts, from loving free
(If indeed such hearts there be),
Frown upon our gentle flame,
And the sweet delusion blame,
This shall be my only curse,
(Could I, could I wish them worse?)
May they ne'er the rapture prove,
Of the smile from lips we love!

Barnes imagines from this allegory, that our poet married very late in life. I do not perceive any thing in the ode which seems to allude to matrimony, except it be the lead upon the feet of Cupid; and I must confess that I agree in the opinion of Madame Dacier, in her life of the poet, that he was always too fond of pleasure to marry.

2 The design of this little fiction is to intimate, that much greater pain attends insensibility than can ever result from the tenderest im. pressions of love. Longepierre has quoted an ancient epigram (I do not know where he found it), which has some similitude to this ode:

Cupid bade me wing my pace,
And try with him the rapid race.
O'er the wild torrent, rude and deep,
By tangled brake and pendent steep,
With weary foot I panting flew,

My brow was chill with drops of dew.
And now my soul, exhausted, dying,
To my lip was faintly flying;

And now I thought the spark had fled,
When Cupid hover'd o'er my head,
And, fanning light his breezy plume,
Recall'd me from my languid gloom;
Then said, in accents half-reproving,
«Why hast thou been a foe to loving?»

ODE XXXII.

STREW me a breathing bed of leaves
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves;

Lecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis
Carpebam, et somno lumina victa dabai;
Cum me sævus Amor prensum, sursumque capillis
Excitat, et lacerum pervigilare jubet.

Tu famulus meus, inquit, ames cam mille puellas,
Solus Io, solus, dure jacere potes?
Exilio et pedibus nudis, tunicaque soluta,
Omae iter impedio, nullum iter expedio.
Nunc propero, nune ire piget; rursumque redire
Pænitet; et pudor est stare via media.

Ecce tacent voces hominum, strepitusque ferarum,
Et volucrum cantus, turbaque fida canum.
Solus ego ex cunctis paveo somnumque torumque,
Et sequor imperium, sæve Capido, tuum.
Upon my couch I lay, at night profound,
My languid eyes in magic slumber bound,

When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my bed,

And forced me many a weary way to tread.

What! (said the god) shall you, whose vows are known, Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone?»

I rise and follow, all the night I stray,
Unshelter'd, trembling, doubtful of my way.
Tracing with naked foot the painful track,
Loth to proceed, yet fearful to go back.
Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd,
Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks are heard;
I, I alone, a fugitive from rest,

Passion my guide, and madness in my breast,
Wander the world around, unknowing where,
The slave of love, the victim of despair!

My brow was chill with drops of dew.] I have followed those who read τειρεν ίδρας (or πειρεν ύδρος ; the former is partly a thorized by the MS which reads πειρεν ίδρως.

And now my soul, exhausted, dying,

To my lip was faintly flying, etc.] In the original, he says his heart flew to his nose; but our manner more naturally transfers it to the lips. Such is the effect that Plato tells us he felt from a kiss, in a distich, quoted by Aulus Gellius:

Την ψυχήν, Αγάθωνα φίλων, επι χείλεσιν έσχον, Ήλθε γαρ ή τλημων ὡς διαβησομενη.

Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip,

And drink thy breath, in melting twine,

My soul then flutters to my lip,

Ready to By and mix with thine.

Aulus Gellias subjoins a paraphrase of this epigram, in which we find many of those mignardises of expression, which mark the effemination of the Latin language.

And, fanning light his breezy plume,

Recall'd me from my languid gloom.] • The facility with which Cupid recovers him, signilies that the sweets of love make us easily forget any solicitudes which he may occasion.» La Fosse.

We here have the poet, in his true attributes, reclining upon myrtles, with Cupid for his cap-bearer. Some interpreters have ruined