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ODE LVI.'

HE, who instructs the youthful crew
To bathe them in the brimmer's dew,
And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses,
All the bliss that wine possesses!
He, who inspires the youth to glance
In winged circlets through the dance!
Bacchus, the god, again is here,
And leads along the blushing year;
The blushing with
rapture teems,
year
Ready to shed those cordial streams
Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth,
Illuminate the sons of earth!

And when the ripe and vermil wine,
Sweet infant of the pregnant vine,
Which now in mellow clusters swells,
Oh! when it bursts its
rosy cells,

The heavenly stream shall mantling flow,
To balsam every mortal woe!

No youth shall then be wan or weak,
For dimpling health shall light the cheek;
No heart shall then desponding sigh,
For wine shall bid despondence fly!
Thus till another autumn's glow
Shall bid another vintage flow!

ODE LVII.2

AND whose immortal hand could shed
Upon this disk the ocean's bed?
And, in a frenzied flight of soul,
Sublime as Heaven's eternal pole,
Imagine thus, in semblance warm,
The Queen of Love's voluptuous form,

1 Compare with this elegant ode the verses of Uz, lib. i. die Weinlese. Degen.

46 our

This appears to be one of the hymns which were sung at the anni versary festival of the vintage; one of the Tianvici úμvor, poet himself terms them in the fifty-ninth ode. We cannot help feeling a peculiar veneration for these relics of the religion of antiquity. Horace may be supposed to have written the nineteenth ode of his second book, and the twenty-fifth of the third, for some bacchanalian celebration of this kind.

Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth,

Illuminate the sons of earth!] In the original OTOY а50VOV κομίζων. Madame Dacier thinks that the poet here had the ne penthe of Homer in his mind. Odyssey, lib. iv. This nepenthe was a something of exquisite charm, infused by Helen into the wine of her guests, which had the power of dispelling every anxiety. A French writer, with very elegant gallantry, conjectures that this spell, which made the bowl so beguiling, was the charm of Helen's conversation. See de Mere, quoted by Bayle, art. Helene.

2 This ode is a very animated description of a picture of Venus on a discus, which represented the goddess in ber first emergence from the waves. About two centuries after our poet wrote, the pencil of the artist Apelles embellished this subject, in his famous painting of the Venus Anadyomené, the model of which, as Pliny informs us, was the beautiful Campaspe, given to him by Alexander; though, according to Natalis Comes, lib. vii, cap. 16, it was Phryne who sat to Apelles for the face and breast of this Venus.

There are a few blemishes in the reading of the ode before us, which have influenced Faber, Heyne, Brunck, etc. to denounce the whole poem as spurious. Non ego paucis offendar maculis. it is beautiful enough to be authentic.

And whose immortal hand could shed

I think

Upon this disk the ocean's bed?] The abruptness of p2 TIS TOPEUTE WOVTOV, is finely expressive of sudden admication, and is one of those beauties which we cannot but admire in their source, though, by frequent imitation, they are now become languid and unimpressive.

Floating along the silvery sea
In beauty's naked majesty?
Oh he has given the raptured sight

A witching banquet of delight;
And all those sacred scenes of Love,
Where only hallowed eyes may rove,
Lie faintly glowing, half-conceal'd,
Within the lucid billows veil'd.
Light as the leaf that summer's breeze
Has wafted o'er the glassy seas,
She floats upon the ocean's breast,
Which undulates in sleepy rest,

And stealing on, she gently pillows
Her bosom on the amorous billows.
Her bosom, like the humid rose,
Her neck, like dewy-sparkling snows,
Illume the liquid path she traces,

And burn within the stream's embraces!
In languid luxury soft she glides,
Encircled by the azure tides,

Like some fair lily, faint with weeping,
Upon a bed of violets sleeping!
Beneath their queen's inspiring glance,
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance,
Bearing in triumph young Desire,
And baby Love with smiles of fire!
While, sparkling on the silver waves,
The tenants of the briny caves
Around the pomp in eddies play,
And gleam along the watery way.

ODE LVIII.'

WHEN gold, as fleet as Zephyr's pinion,
Escapes like any faithless minion,

And all those sacred scenes of love,

Where only hallow'd eyes may rove, etc.] The picture here has all the delicate character of the semi-reducta Venus, and is the sec ́est

Few of the

emblem of what the poetry of passion ought to be; glowing but threagʻi a veil, and stealing upon the heart from concealment. ancients have attained this modesty of description, which is like the golden cloud that hung over Jupiter and Juno, impervious to every beam but that of faucy.

Her bosom, like the humid rose, etc.] 'Padew (says an exonyNeither Ca mous annotator) is a whimsical epithet for the bosom. tullus nor Gray have been of his opinion. The former has the expression, En hic in roseis latet papillis.

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young Desire, etc.] In the original Ispos, who was the same deity with Jocus among the Romans. Aurelius Augurellas has a poem beginning

Invitat olim Bacchus ad cœnam suos
Comon, Jocum, Cupidinem.

Which Parnell has closely imitated:

Gay Bacchus, liking Estcourt's wine,
A noble meal bespoke us;

And, for the guests that were to dine,
Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus, etc.

1 I bace followed Barns's arrangement of this ode, it devates kommer what from the Vatican MS., but it appeared to me the more Baterai

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And flies me (as he flies me ever),
Do I pursue him? never, never!
No, let the false deserter go,
For who would court his direst foe?
But, when I feel my lighten'd mind
No more by ties of gold confined,
I loosen all my clinging cares,

And cast them to the vagrant airs.
Then, then I feel the Muse's spell,
And wake to life the dulcet shell;
The dulcet shell to beauty sings,
And love dissolves along the strings!
Thus, when my heart is sweetly taught
How little gold deserves a thought,
The winged slave returns once more,
And with him wafts delicious store
Of racy wine, whose baliny art
In slumber seals the anxious heart!
Again he tries my soul to sever
From love and song, perhaps for ever!
Away, deceiver! why pursuing
Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing?
Sweet is the song of amorous fire;
Sweet are the sighs that thrill the lyre;
Oh! sweeter far than all the gold
The waftage of thy wings can hold.
1 well remember all thy wiles;
They wither'd Cupid's flowery smiles,
And o'er his harp such garbage shed,
I thought its angel breath was fled!
They tainted all his bowl of blisses,
His bland desires and hallow'd kisses.
Oh! fly to haunts of sordid men,
But rove not near the bard again;

Madame Dacier has already remarked; for Chrysos, which signifies gold, was also a frequent name for a slave. In one of Lucian's dialogues, there is, I think, a similar play upon the word, where the followers of Chrysippus are called golden fishes. The puns of the ancients are, in general, even more vap d than our own; some of the best are those recorded of Diogenes.

And fries me (as he flies me ever), etc.] Ali d', all μe peugel. This grace of iteration has already been taken notice of. Though sometimes merely a playful beauty, it is peculiarly expressive of impassioned sentiment, and we may easily believe that it was one of the many sources of that energetic sensibility which breached through the style of Sappho. See Gyrald. Vet. Poet. Dial. 9. It will not be said that this is a mechanical ornament by any one who can feel its charm in those lines of Catullus, where he complains of the infidelity of his mistress, Lesbia.

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Thy glitter in the Muse's shade

Scares from her bower the tuneful maid; And not for worlds would I forego

That moment of poetic glow,

When my full soul, in Fancy's stream,
Pours o'er the lyre its swelling theme.
Away, away! to worldlings hence,
Who feel not this diviner sense,
And, with thy gay fallacious blaze,
Dazzle their unrefined gaze.

ODE LIX.

SABLED by the solar beam,
Now the fiery clusters teem,
In osier baskets, borne along
By all the festal vintage throng
Of rosy youths and virgins fair,
Kipe as the melting fruits they bear.
Now, now they press the pregnant grapes,
And now the captive stream escapes,
In fervid tide of nectar gushing,
And for its bondage proudly blushing!
While, round the vat's impurpled brim,
The choral song, the vintage hymn
Of rosy youths and virgins fair,
Steals on the cloy'd and panting air.
Mark, how they drink, with all their eyes,
The orient tide that sparkling flies;
The infant balm of all their fears,
The infant Bacchus, born in tears!
When he, whose verging years decline
As deep into the vale as mine,
When he inhales the vintage-spring,
His heart is fire, his foot's a wing;
And, as he flies, his boary hair
Plays truant with the wanton air!
While the warm youth, whose wishing soul
Has kindled o'er the inspiring bowl,
Impassion'd seeks the shadowy grove,
Where, in the tempting guise of love,
Reclining slepes some witching maid,
Whose sunny charms, but half display'd,
Blush through the bower, that, closely twined,
Excludes the kisses of the wind!

The virgin wakes, the glowing boy
Allures her to the embrace of joy;

Swears that the herbage Heaven had spread
Was sacred as the nuptial bed;

The title Envios μvos, which Barnes has given to this ode, is by no means appropriate. We have already had one of those bymns (ode 56), but this is a description of the vintage; and the title EIC DIVOV, which it bears in the Vatican MS., is more correct than any that have been suggested.

Degen, in the true spirit of literary scepticism, doubts that this ode is genuine, without assigning any reason for such a suspicion, Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare; but this is far from satisfactory criticism.

Swears that the herbage Heaven had spread,

Was sacred as the nuptial bed, etc.] The original here has been variously interpreted. Some, in their zeal for our author's purity, bave supposed that the youth only persuades her to a premature marriage. Ousers understand from the words προδοτιν γαμων γενεσθαι,

that he seduces her to a violation of the nuptial vow. The turn which I have given it is somewhat like the sentiment of Heloisa, amorem conjugio, libertatem vinculo præferre. (See her original Letters.)

as in Ben Jonson's translation from Phi'ostratus; and Lucian has a conceit upon the same idea, a Ira as wins quaxas A, The Italian translations have almost all wantoned upon this descripthat you may at once both drink and kiss..

tion: but that of Marchetti is indeed nimium lubricus aspici..

That laws should never bind desire,
And love was nature's holiest fire!
The virgin weeps, the virgin sighs;
He kiss'd her lips, he kiss'd her eyes;
The sigh was balin, the tear was dew,
They only raised his flame anew.
And, oh! he stole the sweetest flower
That ever bloom'd in any bower!

Such is the madness wine imparts, Whene er it steals on youthful hearts.

ODE LX.

AWARE to life, my dulcet shell,
To Phoebus all thy sighs shall swell;
And though no glorious prize be thine,
No Pythian wreath around thee twine,
Yet every hour is glory's hour,
To him who gathers wisdom's flower!
Then wake thee from thy magic slumbers,
Breathe to the soft and Phrygian numbers,
Which, as my trembling lips repeat,
Thy chords shall echo back as sweet.
The cygnet thus, with fading notes,
As down Cayster's tide he floats,
Plays with his snowy plumage fair
Upon the wanton murmuring air,
Which amorously lingers round,
And sighs responsive sound for sound!
Muse of the Lyre! illume my dream,
Thy Phoebus is my fancy's theme;
And hallow'd is the harp I hear,
And hallow'd is the wreath I wear,
Hallow'd by him, the god of lays,
Who modulates the choral maze!
I sing the love which Daphne twined
Around the godhead s yielding mind;
I sing the blushing Daphine's flight
From this ethereal youth of light;
And how the tender, timid maid
Flew panting to the kindly shade,
Resign'd a form, too tempting fair,
And grew a verdant laurel there;
Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill,
In terror seem'd to tremble still!

This hyma to Apollo is supposed not to have been written by Anacreon, and it certainly is rather a sublimer flight than the Teisa wing is accustomed to soar. But we ought not to judge from this diversity of style, in a poet of whom time has preserved such partial relics. If we knew Horace but as a satirist, should we easily believe there could dwell such animation in his lyre? Suidas says that our poet wrote hymns, and this perhaps is one of them. We can perceive in what an altered and imperfect state his works are at present, when we find a scho last upon Horace citing an ode from the third book of

Anacreon.

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The god pursued, with wing'd desire;
And when his hopes were all on fire,
And when he thought to hear the sigh
With which enamour'd virgins die,
He only heard the pensive air
Whispering amid her leafy hair!
But oh, my soul! no more-no more!
Enthusiast, whither do I soar?
This sweetly maddening dream of soul
Has hurried me beyond the goal.
Why should I sing the mighty darts
Which fly to wound celestial hearts,
When sure the lay, with sweeter tone,
Can tell the darts that wound my own?
Still be Anacreou, still inspire
The descant of the Teian lyre
Still let the nectar'd numbers float,
Distilling love in note!
every

And when the youth, whose burning soul
Has felt the Paphian star's control,
When he the liquid lays shall hear,
His heart will flutter to his ear,
And drinking there of song divine,
Banquet on intellectual wine!

ODE LXI.'

GOLDEN hues of youth are fled; Hoary locks deform my head.

Still be Anacreon, still inspire

The descant of the Teian lyre.] The original is Toy Ava×рeovтa miμou. I have translated it under the supposition that the hymn is by Anacreon; though I fear, from this very line, that his claim to it can scarcely be supported.

Tov Avançeovтa pipicu, Imitate Anacreon. Such is the lesson given us by the lyrist, and if, in poetry, a simple elegance of sentiment, enriched by the most playful felicities of fancy, be a charm which invites or deserves imitation, where shall we find such a

Guide as Anacreon? In morality, too, with some little reserve, I think we might not blush to follow in his footsteps. For if his song be the language of his heart, though luxurious and relaxed, he was artless and benevolent; and who would not forgive a few irregularities, when atoned for by virtues so rare and so endearing? When we think of the sentiment in those lines:

Away! I hate the slanderous dart,

Which steals to wound the unwary heart,

how many are there in the world to whom we would wish to say. Τον Ανακρέοντα μιμού!

Here ends the last of the odes in the Vatican MS, whose authori confirms the genuine antiquity of them all, though a few hyre stolen among the number which we may hesitate in attributing to Asaereon. In the little essay prefixed to this translation, I observed that Barnes had quoted this manuscript incorrectly, relying upon an imperfect copy of it, which Isaac Vossius had taken; I shall just mention two or three instances of this inaccuracy, the first which occur to me. In the

ode of the Dove, on the words ПTepolo ougnanufæ, he says, • Vatican MS. Guoxidar, etiam Presciano invito, though the MS. reads Guvanute, with ovoxidow interlined. Degen, too, on the the same li e, is somewhat in error. In the twenty-se cond ode of this series, line thirteen.h, the Ms. bas Tevin with as Interlined, and Barnes imputes to it the reading of gaydn. In the fifty-seventh, line twelfth, he professes to have preserved the reading of the MS. Axaλnjevn d' ex' auth, while the latter bas αλαλημένος δ' επ' αυτα. Almost all the other annotate's

have transplanted these errors from Barnes.

The intrusion of this melancholy ode among the careless lex tirs of our poet, has always reminded me of the skeletons which the Epyptians used to hang up in their banquet-rooms, to incolate a the aght of mortality cren amidst the dissipations of mirth. If it were not for the beauty of its numbers, the Teian Muse should disown this ode. Quid habet illius, illius que spirabat amores? To toba us we are indebted for it.

Bloomy graces, dalliance gay,
All the flowers of life decay.
Withering age begins to trace
Sad memorials o'er my face;
Time has shed its sweetest bloom,
All the future must be gloom!
This awakes my hourly sighing;
Dreary is the thought of dying!
Pluto's is a dark abode,

Sad the journey, sad the road:
And, the gloomy travel o'er,
Ah! we can return no more!

ODE LXII.'

FILL me, boy, as deep a draught
As e'er was fill'd, as e'er was quaffd;
But let the water amply flow,

To cool the grape's intemperate glow;
Let not the fiery god be single,

But with the nymphs in union mingle;

For, though the bowl's the grave of sadness, Oh! be it ne'er the birth of madness!

Bloomy graces, dalliance gay,

All the flowers of life decay.] Horace often, with feeling and elegance, deplores the fugacity of human enjoyments. See hook is. ode 11; and thus in the second epistle, book ii.

Singula de nobis anni prædantur eundes,
Eripuere jocos, venerem, convivia, ludum.

The wing of every passing day

Withers some blooming joy away;

And wafts from our enamour'd arms

The banquet's mirth, the virgin's charms.

Dreary is the thought of dying, etc.] Regnier, a libertine French poet, has written some sonnets on the approach of death, full of gloomy and trembling repentance. Chaulieu, however, supports more consistently the spirit of the Epicurean philosopher. See his addressed to the Marquis La Farre.

Plus j'approche du terme et moins je le redoute, etc.

poem,

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It appears to have been the opening of a hymn in praise of Love. This hymn to Diana is extant in Hephestion. There is an anecdete of our poet, which has led to some doubt whether he ever wrote It is related by the Scholiast upon Pindar Anacreon being asked, (Isthmionic, od, it. v. 1. as cited by Barnes). why he addressed all his hymns to women, and none to the deities? answered, Because women are my deities.

This ode consists of two fragments, which are to be found in Athe-any odes of this kind. næus, book x. and which Barnes, from the similarity of their tendency, has combined into one. I think this a very justifiable liberty, and have adopted it in some other fragments of our poet. Degen refers us here to verses of Uz, lib. iv. der Trinker.

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I have assumed the same liberty in reporting this anecdote which I have done in translating some of the odes; and it were to be wished that these little infidelities were always considered pardonable in the interpretation of the ancients; thus, when nature is forgotten in the original, in the translation, tamen usque recurret.» Turn, to Lethe's river turn,

There thy vanquish'd people mourn!] Lethe, a river of lonia, according to Strabo, falling into the Meander; near to it was situated the town Magnesia, in favour of whose inhabitants our poet is supposed to have addressed this supplication to Diana. It was written Madame Dacier conjectures) on the occasion of some battle, in which the Magnesians had been defeated.

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3 This ode, which is addressed to some Thracian girl, exists in Heraclides, and has been imitated very frequently by Horace, as all the annotators have remarked. Madame Dacier rejects the allegory, which ruas so obviously throughout it, and supposes it to have been addressed to a young mare belonging to Polycrates. there is more modesty than ingenuity in the lady's conjecture.

Pierius, in the fourth book of his Hieroglyphics, cites this ode, and informs us, that the horse was the hieroglyphical emblem of pride.

And seem'st to think my doting heart
Is novice in the bridling art?
Believe me, girl, it is not so;

Thou'll find this skilful hand can throw
The reins upon that tender form,
However wild, however warm!
Thoult own that I can tame thy force,
And turn and wind thee in the course.
Though wasting now thy careless hours,
Thou sport'st amid the herbs and flowers,
Thou soon shalt feel the rein's control,
And tremble at the wish'd-for goal!

ODE LXVI.'

To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, Fairest of all that fairest shine; To thee, thou blushing young Desire, Who rulest the world with darts of fire! And oh thou nuptial Power, to thee Who bear'st of life the guardian key; Breathing my soul in fragrant praise, And weaving wild my votive lays, For thee, O Queen! I wake the lyre, For thee, thou blushing young Desire! And oh! for thee, thou nuptial Power, Come, and illume this genial hour. Look on thy bride, luxuriant boy! And while thy lambent glance of joy Plays over all her blushing charms, Delay not, snatch her to thine arms, Before the lovely, trembling prey, Like a young birdling, wing away! Oh! Stratocles, impassion'd youth! Dear to the Queen of amorous truth, And dear to her, whose yielding zone Will soon resign her all thine own; Turn to Myrilla, turn thine eye, Breathe to Myrilla, breathe thy sigh! To those bewitching beauties turn; For thee they mantle, flush, and burn! Not more the rose, the queen of flowers, Outblushes all the glow of bowers, Thau she unrivall'd bloom discloses, The sweetest rose, where all are roses! Oh! may the sun, benignant, shed His blandest influence o'er thy bed; And foster there an infant tree,

To blush like her, and bloom like thee!

This ode is introduced in the Romance of Theodorus Prodromus, and is that kind of epithalamium which was sung like a scholium at the nuptial banquet.

ODE LXVII,'

GENTLE youth! whose looks assume
Such a soft and girlish bloom,
Why repulsive, why refuse

The friendship which my heart pursues?

Thou little know'st the fond control
With which thy virtue reins my soul!
Then smile not on my locks of gray,
Believe me oft with converse gay;
I've chain'd the years of tender age,
And boys have loved the prattling sage!
For mine is many a soothing pleasure,
And mine is many a soothing measure;
And much I hate the beamless mind,
Whose earthly vision, unrefined,
Nature has never formed to see
The beauties of simplicity!
Simplicity, the flower of heaven,
To souls elect, by Nature given!

ODE LXVIII.2

RICH in bliss, I proudly scorn
The stream of Amalthea's horn!
Nor should I ask to call the throne
Of the Tartessian prince my own;
To totter through his train of years,
The victim of declining fears.
One little hour of joy to me
Is worth a dull eternity!

ing flos, in somewhat a similar sense to that which Gaulminus at

tributes to fedov, says," Hortum quoque vocant in quo flos ille carpitur, et Græcis tov 851 to equbalov guvainov.

May 1 remark, that the author of the Greek version of this charming ode of Catullus has neglected a most striking and anacreontic beauty in those verses, Ut flos in septis, etc. which is the repetition of the line Mules illum pueri, multe optavere puelle, with the slight al teration of nulli and rulle, Catullus himself, however, bs bea equally injudicious in his version of the famous ode of Sappho he has translated 787 Woxs iuspoer, but takes no notice of ado ! Savougas. Horace has cau,ht the spirit of it more faithfully :

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Among the many works of the impassioned Sappho, of which time and ignorant superstition have deprived us, the loss of her epithala-served. miums is not one of the least that we deplore. A sobiect so interesting to an amorous fancy was warmly felt, and must have been warmly described, by such a soul and such an imagination. The following lines are cited as a relic of one of her epithalamiums i

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And boys here led the prattling ge!] has Given a very amiable idea of an old youth:

Monsieur Chan' en intercourse with

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2 This fragment is preserved in the third book of Strabo.

Of the Tortes ian prince ma on n.] He here alludes to Argan the nius, who lived, according to Lucin, a hundred and fviy years; ind reigned, according to Herodotus, eighty. See Barnes.

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