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And, while in luxury's dream I sink,
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink!
In this delicious hour of joy
Young Love shall be my goblet-boy;
Folding his liule golden vest,
With cinctures, round bis snowy breast,
Himself shall lover by my side,
And minister the racy tide!
Swift as the wheels that kindling roll,
Our life is hurrying to the goal:
A scanty dust to feed the wind,
Is all the trace't will leave behind.
Why do we shed the rose's bloom
Upon the cold, insensate tomb!
Can flowery breeze, or odour's breath,
Affect the slumbering chill of death?
No, no ; I ask no balm to steep
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep:
But now, while every pulse is glowing,
Now let me breathe the balsam flowing;
Now let the rose with blush of fire,
Upon my brow its scent expire;
And bring the nyinph with floating eye,
Oh! she will teach me how to die!
Yes, Cupid! ere my soul retire,
To join the blest Elysian choir,
With wine, and love, and blisses dear,
I'll make my own Elysium here!

« And who art thou,» I waking cry, « That bid'st my blissful visions fly?» « O gentle sire!» the infant said, « In pity take me to thy shed; Nor fear deceit : a lonely child I wander o'er the gloomy wild. Chill drops the rain, and not a ray Illumes the drear and misty way!» I hear the baby's tale of woe; I hear the bitter night-winds blow; And, sigling for liis piteous fate, I trimm'd my lamp, and oped the gate. 'T was Love! the little wandering sprite, llis pinion sparkled through the night! I knew him by lois bow and dart; I knew him by my fluttering heart! I take him in, and fondly raise The dying embers' cheering blaze; Press from his dank and clinging hair The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and bosom hold His little fingers thrilling cold. And now the embers' genial ray Had warm'd his anxious fears away; « I pray thee,» said the wanton child (My bosom trembled as he smiled), « I pray thee let me try my bow, For through the rain I 've wander'd so, That much I fear the ceaseless shower Has injured its elastic power.» The fatal bow the urchin drew; Swift from the string the arrow flew; Oh ! swift it flew as glancing flame, And to my very soul it came! « Fare thee well,» I heard him say, As laughing wild lic winy d away; « Fare thee well, for now I know The rain has not relax'd my bow; It still can send a maddening dart, As thou shalt own with all thy heart!

ODE XXXIII. 'T was noon of night, when round the pole The sullen Bear is seen to roll; And mortals, wearied with the day, Are slumbering all their cares away: An infant, at that dreary hour, Came weeping to my silent bower, And waked me with a piteous prayer, To save him from the midnight air!

ODE XXXIV.' On thou, of all creation blest, Sweet insect! that delight'st to rest

the picture by making Eows the name of his slave. None but Love should till the goblet of Anacreon. Sappho has assigned this ollice 10 Venus, in a fragment. Ελθε, Κυπρι, χρυσειαισιν εν κυλικεσσιν αύρους συμμεμιγμενον θαλαισι νεκταρ οινοχοουσα τουτοισι τους εταίρους εμοις γε και σoυς. . Which may be thus paraphrased:

Hither, Venus! queen of kisses,
This shall be the night of blisses!
This the night, to friendship dear,
Thou shalt be our Robe liere.
Fill the golden brimmer high,
Let it sparkle like thine eye!
Eid the rosy current rush,
Let it mantle like thy blush!
Venus! hast thou e'er aboro
Seen a feast so rich in love!
Not soul that is not mine!

Nora soul that is not thine! • Compare with this ode (say the German commentator) the beautilal poem in Rawler's Lyr. Blumenlose, lib. iv. p. 296. Amor als Dicner.

1 Monsieur Bernard, the author of l'Art d'aimer, bad written a ballat called .Les Surprises de l'Amour, in which th subject of the third eatrée is Ana, r on, and ile story of this ode subursis one of the scenes. OEuvres de Bernard, Anac. bene 4th

The German annotator refers us liere to an imitation by l'z. lib. iii. • Ainor und sein Bruder • auta poem of Kleist die Heilung. La Fontaine has translated, or rather unitated, this ode.

And who art thou, I waking cry',

. That bid'st my blissful visions fy?] Anacreon appear is baie been a solupruary even in dreaming, by the lively regret ** presses at being disturbed from bis visionary enjoşia 903). *** odes x, and TIIVII.

'Twas Love! the little wandering sprite, etc.) Seo the heat description of Cupid, by Moschus, in his first idyl.

'Father Rapin, in a Latin ode addressed to the grasdorte, preserved some of the thoughts of our author:

o quæ virenti graminis in toro,
Cicada, blande sidis, et herbides

Saltus oberras, Oriosos

Ingeniosa ciere captus.
Seu forte adultis floribus incubas,

Coli caducis ebria fletibus, etc.
Ob thou, that on the grassy bed
Which Nature's vernal band bas spread.
Relioest soft, and tunest thy song.
The dewy herbs and Icaves among!
Whether thou liest on springing flowers,
Drunk with the balmy morning-showers,

Or, etc.
Gressbut Liertus says about grasshoppers, cap. 93 54 55

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.»

Upon the wild wood's leafy tops, To drink the dew that morning drops, And chirp thy song with such a glee, That happiest kings may envy thee! 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; Twas he who gave that voice to thee, *T is he who tupes 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!

Cupid once upon a bed

Of roses laid his weary head; And chirp thy song with such a glee, etc. ] . Some authors have affirmed (saye Madame Dacier). that it is only male grasshoppers which sing, and that the females are silent; and on this circumstance is found. ed a bon-mot of Xonarchus, the comic poet, who says ent' HIFI OF τεττιγες ουκ ευδαιμονες, ων ταις γυναιξιν ουδ' οτι ουν 0619S 69% are not the grasshoppers happy in having dumb wives?'. This note is originally Heary Stephen's; but I chose rather to make Madame Dacier my authority for it.

The Muses love thy shrılly tone, etc.) Phile, de Animal. Proprietat. calls this insect Mourass Q1195, the darling of the Muses ; and M.Utwy opony, the bird of the Muses; and we find Plato compared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, in the following panning lines of Timon, preserved by Diogenes Laertius:

Ταν παντων δ' ήγειτο αλατυσατος, αλλ' αγορητης “Ηδυεπης τεττιξιν ισογραφος, οι θ' εκαδημου

Δενδρεα εφεζομενοι οπα λειριοεσσαν εισι. .

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

Melodious insect! child of earth! Longepierre bas quoted the two
Brst lines of an epigram of Antipater, from the first book of the An-
thologia, where he prefers the grasshopper to the swan:
Αρκει τεττιγας μεθυσαι δροσος, αλλα ειoντες
Audony xuxYW EICI

τι γίγωνοτεροι. .
In dew, that drops from morning's wings,

The gay Cicada sipping floats ;
And, drunk with dew, his matin sings

Sweeter than any cycaet's notes. • Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his nineteenth idyl, but is very inferior, I think, to his original, in delicacy of point and naiveté of expression. Spenser in one of his smaller compositions, has

sported more diffusely on the same subject. The poem to which I allade begins thas.

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbering

All in his mother's lap:
A gentle bee, with bss load trumpet murmuring.

About him flew by bap, ete. In Almeloreea's collection of epigrams, there is one by Lavorius, correspondeat somewhat with the turn of Anacreoa, where Love complains to his mother of being sounded by a rose.

The ode before as is the very lower of simplicity. The infantine complainings of the little god, and the natural and impresure reflections wbieha tbey draw from Vebus, are beauties of inimitable grace. I hope I shall be pardosed for introducing another Greek Anacreontie of Monsieur Menage, not for its similcode to the subject of this ode, but for some faiet traces of this natural simplicity, which it appears to me to have preserved:

Ερως ποτ' εν χορείαις
Των παρθενων αυτον
Tu jsi çin.ny Kopirvey
“Ως ειδεν, ως προς αυτην

Προσεδραμεν τραχηλο
Διδυμας τε χειρας απτων
Dine us, patep, SITE.
Καλουμενη Κορεννα
Μητηρ, ερυθριαζει,
“Ως παρθενος μεν ουσα.
Κ' αυτος δε δυσχεραίνων, ,
“Ως ομμασι αλανηθεις,
Ερως ερυθριαζει. .
Εγω δε οι σαραςας, ,
Μη δυσχεραίνε, φημι.
Κυπριν τε και Κορινναν
Διαγνωσαι ουκ εχουσι
Και οι βλεποντες οξυ. .
As dancing o'er be enamelld plain,
The flow'ret of the virgin train,
My soul's Coriona, lightly playa.
Young Cupid saw the graceful maid ,
He saw, and in a moment few,
And round ber neck bis 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, scaree believing
That vision could be so deceiving.
Thas to mistake his Cyprian dame,
The little infant blush'd with shame.
. Be not ashamed, my boy.. I cried,
For I was hingering by his side ;

Corians and tby lovely mother,
Believe me, are so like each other,
That clearest eyes are oft betray'd,

And take tby Venus for the maid..
Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has translated this ode of Ana-


Thus he spoke, and she the while
Ileard 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 !»

As lulld in slumber I was laid,
Bright visions o'er my fancy play'd!
With virgios, blooming as the dawn,
I seemd to trace the opening lawn;
Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew,
We flew, and sported as we flew!
Some ruddy scriplings, 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 ded,

Sleep! again my joys restore,
Oh! let me dream them o'er and o'er!>>

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


Let us drain the nectard 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 twiping arms.

the cause of the severe reprehension which I believe be effered lo

bis Anacreon. «Fuit olim fateor (says he, in a note upoa Longins ODE XXXVII.?

cum Sapphonem amubam. Sed ex quo illa me perditissima fasu

pene miserum perdidit cum sceleratissimo suo congerrone (Asaros 'T was night, and many a circling bowl

tem dico, si nesis Lector), noli sperare, etc. etc.

He adders Had deeply warm d my swimming soul;

this ode the authority of Plato, who allowed ebriety, at the Dizna

festivals, to men arrived at their fortieth year. He likes" quator Monsieur Fontenelle bas translated it's ode, in his dialogue be- the following line from Alexis, which he says no one, who t* *** tween Anacreon and Aristotle in the sbades, where he bestows tiie prize tally igooraot of the world, can hesitate to confess the track al of wisdom upon the poet.

Ουδεις φιλοποτης εσιν ανθρωπος κακος. . • The German imitators of it are, Lessing, in bis poem

. Gestern

• No lorer of drinking was ever a vicious man.. Brüder, etc. Gleim, in the ode An den Tod,' and Schmidt in der Poet. Blumenl. Gotting. 1783. p. 7.- Degen.

-when all my dream of joys,

Dimpled girls and rudily boys, That when the Fates would send their minion,

All were gone ' ) Nonnus says of Bacchus, almost in the same ** To waft me off on shadowy pinion, etc.) The commentators, who that Anacreon uses, are so fond of disputing - de lana caprina.. bave been very busy on the authority of the phrase in' av bevesy €766n. The reading

Εγρομενος δε of in' av OxVATOS E7E2 6n, which De Medenbach proposes in liis Παρθενoν ουκ' εκιχησε, και θελεν αυθις 11:47. Amanitates Litteraria, was already hinted by Le Forre, who seldom

Waking, he lost the phantom's charms, suggests any thing worth notice.

He found no beauty in his arms;

Again to slumber he essay'd, The goblet rich, the board of friends,

Again to clasp the shadowy maid! Whuse flowing souls the goblet blends'] This commuoion of

Sleep! again my joys restore, friendship, which sweetened the busl of Anacreon, bas not beea for

Oh! let me dream them o'er and o'er', ] gostea by tbe author of the following scholium, where the blessings of life are enumerated with proverbial simplicity. Ygranes per

preface to Shakspeare, animadverting upon the commealuzetni dol

poet, wbo pretended, in every little coincidence of thosell, ** **** αριςον ανδρι θνητω. Δευτερον δε, καλον φυων γενεσθαι.

an imitation of some ancient poet, alludes in the follosis ***** TO тртоу

ds, ThOUTSI adows. Kau To TETRITOY, the line of Anacreon before us: I have been told that sheal" συναβαν μετα των φιλων.

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after a pleasing dream, says, 'I tried to sleep again,' ibe at *

tates Anacreon, who had, like any other mati, the one that of mortal blessings bere, the first is bealth, And next, those charms by which the eye we move ;

1. Compare with this beautiful ode the serses of Bagets no The third is wealili, un wounding guiltless wealth,

das Gesellschaftliche; and of Burger, p. 51,. etc. ete. Deges. And then, an intercourse with thoge we love!

Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms '. Compare with this ode the beautiful poem, der Traum of Uz,', llas fondled in her twining arms. ]

Robertellas, upes Degen.

lamium of Catullus, meations ao ingenious derivation of Cyke**** Monsieur Le Fesre, in a note upon this odr, enters into an ela- na to o of Venus, παρα το κευθειν τους ερατας, κ. " Lucale and learaed justification of drunkenness; and this is probably to huuttiat Love's fairy favours are lost, when not seesta."

same occasion..

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!
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!

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!

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;


Ne regardez que mon amour.

Peut-être en serez vous émue :
How I love the festive hoy,

Il est jeune, et n'est que du jour,
Tripping with the dance of joy!

Belle Iris, que je vous ai vue.
How I love the mellow sage,

Fair and young, thou bloomest now,
Smiling through the veil of age!

And I fall many a year have told ;

But read the heart and not the brow,
And whene'er this man of

Thou shalt not find my love is old.
In the dance of joy appears,

My love's a child; and thou canst say
Age is on his temples hung,

How much his little age may be,
But his heart—his heart is young!

For be was born the very day

That first I set my eyes on thee! No, no, the walk of life is dark,

No, no, the heart that feels with me, 'Tis wine alone can strike a spark !) The brerity of life allows ar

Can nerer be a slave to thee ! ) Loogepierre quotes an epigram bere guments for the roluptuary as well as the moralist. Among many from the Anthologia, on account of the similarity of a particular parallel passages which Longepierre has adduced, I shall content mysell pbrate; it is by no meaus anacreontic, but has an interesting simwith this epigram from the Anthologia.

plicity which induced me to paraphrase is, aad may atone for its

intrusion. Λουσαμενοι, Προδικη, πυκασώμεθα, και τον ακρατον “Ελκωμεν, κυλικας μειζονας αραμενοι.

Ελπις, και συ, τυχη, μεγα χαιρετε. τον λιμεν' εύρον. “Ραιος ο χαιροντων εςι βιος. ειτα τα λοιπα Ουδεν εμοι χ' υμιν. παιζετε τους μετ' εμε. Γηρας κωλυσει, και το τελος θανατος.

At length to Fortune, and to you, or shich the following is a loose paraphrase :

Delasive Hope! a last adieu.

The charm that once beguiled is o'er,
Fly, my beloved, to yonder stream,

And I have reach'd my destined shore !
We'll plange us from the noontide beain!

Away, away, your flattering arts
Then call the rose', bumid bud,

May now betray some simpler hearts,
And dip it in our coblet's flood.

And you will smile at their believing.
Our age of bliss, my nymph, shall fly

And they shall weep at your deceiving !
As sweet, though passing, as that sigha
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip.

Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom,
• Come, while you may, of rapture sip.

And Venus dance me to the tomb!) The same commentator bas For age will steal the rosy form,

quoted an epitaph, written upon our poet by Julian, where he makes And chill the paise, which trembles warm!

bim give the precepts of good-fellowship even from the tomb,
And death-alas! that hearts, which thrill
Like yours and mine, should c'er be atill!

Πολλακι μεν τοδ' αεισα, και εκ τυμβου δε βοησω Age is on his temples kung,

Πινετε, πριν ταυτην αμφιβαλησθε κοιν. But his heart--hts heart is young !) Saint Pavia makes the same dir

This lesson oft in life I sung. action in a sonnet to a young girl.

And from my grave I still shall cry,
Je sais bien que les destinées

• Drink, mortal! driok, while time is yoang.
Oat mal compassé nos angées ;

Ere death has made thee cold as l..

many a smile

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?

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 call 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 barp 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!

With many a cup

and The festal moments we beguile. And while the harp, impassion d, flings Tuneful rapture from the strings, Some airy nymph, with fluent limbs, Through the dance luxuriant swims, Waving, iu ber snowy hand,

he 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!

And while the harp, impassion'd, sings

Tuncsul rapture [rom the strings, etc.) On the barbiton a box of authorities may be collected, which, after all, leave us ignoraat ofte nature of the instrument. There is scarcely any point upon stut er are 50 totally uninformed as the music of the ancients. The amben'** extant upon the subject are. I imagine, lille understood, but ceri: 1 if one of tbeir monds was a progression by quarter-tones. mbio are told was the nature of the enharmonic scale, simplicity was by me means the characteristic of their melody: for this is a nicety of pgression of which modern music is nos susceptible. The invention of the barbiton is, by Athenxus, attribated to do,

See his fourib book, where it is called to supruz Ανακρέοντος. . Neanthes of Cyzicos, as quoted by Gralds the saine. Vide Chabot. in Horat, on the words • Lesbeam bar's in the first ode.



Wille our rosy fillets shed Blushes o'er each fervid head,

And then, what nectar in his sigh,

Az o'er his lip the murmurs die?) Longepierre bas quoted here u epigram from the Anthologia:

Κουρη τις μ' εφίλησε σοβεσπερα χείλεσιν υγγας. Νεκταρεαν το φίλημα, το γαρ σιμα νεκταρος επ75%. Νυν μεθυω το φιλήμα, πολυν τον ερατα τιταεας. Of which the following may give some idea:

The king that she left on my lip

Like a dess-drop shall lingering lie; 'T was neitar she gave me to sip,

'T was nectar I drank in her sigla
The dew that distilled in that kiss,

To my soul was voluptuous wing :
Ever since it is drank with the bliss,

And feels a delirium divine !

And with the maid, whose erery sigh
Is love and bliss, etc. ) Thus Horace:

Quid habes illius, illius
Quæ spirabat amores,
Que me surpuerat mi.
And does there then remain but th's,

And hast thou lost each rosy ray
or her, who breathed the soul of bliss,

And stole me from myself away! * The character of Anacreon is here very strikingly depicted. His love of sial, harmonized pleasures is expressed with a warmtis, amiable and endearing. Among the epigrams imputed to Anacreon is the follossing, it is the only one worth translation, and it breathes the same sentiments with this ode:

ος κρητηρι παρα αλεω οινοπιταζων, Νεικεα και αολεμου δακρυοεντα λεγει. Αλλ' οςις Μουσεων τε, και αγλαα έαρ Αφροδίτης Ευμμιση ων, ερατης μνησκεσαι ευφροσυνης.

When to the lip the bor'mming eur

And hearts are all float upon the stream,
Then brunish from in; heard the unpolish'al guest

Who makes the feats of war bis bacharous thesie.
But bring the man, a bo o'er his goblet wreathes

TheHuse's Laurel wul the Cyprian foser:
Oh! give me him whose heari eransese breathes

All the retinements of the social lour.

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Has Cupid left the starry sphere,

To wake his goldes tresses here?] The introduction of Lorem 10 the festival is merely allegorical 31 dame Dacier thiss ets poet describes a masquerade, where these derties are long the company in masks, The translation will coa!sms Hon.

is press'd,

411, all are here, to hail with me

The Genius of Festivity!) Kwuos, the deity or gesies die Prostratus, in the third of his pictures (as all the max tais bar serseil) gives a very beauniful description of this ge.

(a) Collected by Veibomios.

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