Around its polish'd surface bring
The flowery pride of purple spring;
There let the soft and vernal hours
Shed rosy sweets in plenteous showers.
Engrave no foreign mystic rite,

No marv'llous tale that shocks the sight;
But draw the gen'rous god of wine,
Blithe Bacchus, son of Jove divine.
Let Venus, love's sweet smiling queen,
With youthful Hymen deck the scene:
His dread artillery laid aside,
Let Cupid midst the Graces glide,'
As in the sprightly dance they join
Beneath the high-embowering vine,
Whose glowing clusters peep between
The foliage bright of glossy green.
With these a youthful group display,
As fair as Phoebus, god of day,
Though Phoebus join not in their play."

ODE XIX.-REASONS FOR DRINKING,

THE earth drinks up the genial rains
Which deluge all her thirsty plains ;
The lofty trees that pierce the sky 3
Drain up the earth and leave her dry;

1 'It is not without reason that Anacreon, after having mentioned Venus, introduces Love among the Graces, being sensible that though beauty alone might please, yet without the aid of other charms it could not long captivate the heart.' Fawkes.

2 This apparently alludes to the fable of Hyacinthus, a youth slain by Apollo while playing with him at quoits.

3 The poet here refers to the supply of moisture which trees receive by means of their roots and fibres.

Th' insatiate sea imbibes, each hour,'
The welcome breeze that brings the show'r ;
The sun, whose fires so fiercely burn,
Absorbs the wave; and, in her turn,
The modest moon enjoys, each night,2
Large draughts of his celestial light.
Then, sapient sirs, pray tell me why,
If all things drink, why may not I?

ODE XX.-TO HIS MISTRESS.

ON desert Phrygia's silent sands
Poor Niobe an image stands ;3
And Pandion's injured child, we know,
Still, twittering, tells her tale of woe.
But would the gods the change allow,
And hear and grant my tender vow,
Dear girl! thy mirror I would be,

That thou might'st always smile on me.

1 This passage, which seems to have given the commentators some trouble, is by many supposed to be an error in the text. I have followed the usual reading, though I think Fawkes' amendment very judicious. He has it the sea drinks up the rivers,' certainly a much more natural idea.

2 The moon is said to drink from the sun, because she borrows her light from that luminary.

3 Niobe was the daughter of Tantalus, king of Phrygia, and wife of Amphion, king of Thebes; by whom, according to Homer, having six sons and six daughters, she became so proud of her offspring and high birth, that she had the vanity to prefer herself to Latona, the mother of Apollo and Diana; who, to revenge the affront offered to their parent, in one day slew all her children: on which Niobe was struck dumb with grief, and remained stupid. For that reason the poets have feigned her to be turned into a stone.-See Ovid's Met. book vi.

4 The poet here alludes to the fabled transformation of Philomela. See note 1, p. 15.

Thy vest I'd be, to guard with care
Those heaving breasts, and nestle there.
O! would I were a limpid wave,

Thy soft and beauteous limbs to lave;
Thy perfumed oil, that I might share
The glory of thy golden hair!
Or, dearer still, that slender zone,
Which makes thy beauties all its own:
Thy pearly chain, that shines so fair,
But cannot with thy neck compare:
Thy very sandal I would be,1
To kiss the foot that trod on me!

ODE XXI.-SUMMER.

BRING, maidens, bring a well-mix'd bowl,
And let me slake my thirsty soul;

For, scorch'd beneath this sultry sky,
My spirits sink-I faint-I die.
This garland, late so fresh and fair,2
I twined amid my curling hair;
But all its faded flow'rets now
Have wither'd on my burning brow.
Bring fresher wreaths my head to shade;
Bring others still when those shall fade.

1 This ode has been imitated by many succeeding writers; and in our immortal bard, who needed no copy but nature, the following passage can only be said to present a remarkable coincidence:

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
Oh! that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!

Romeo and Juliet, act 2, scene 2.

2 The custom of wearing garlands of flowers at entertainments has already been mentioned.

But, oh! what ease can wine impart
When love's fierce flame consumes the heart?
In vain to groves or shades I fly,'
This inward flame will never die!

ODE XXII.-THE BOWER.2

HASTE, my love, this shade to seek,
The spreading tree is passing fair,
Like clust'ring curls on Beauty's cheek,
See it waves its wanton hair.

The streamlet murm'ring at our feet
Rolls its music through the grove ;3

1 The reflection here made by the poet is just and natural, and is similar to that at the conclusion of the fourteenth ode. When love has once taken possession of the heart external defences cease to be useful.

2 This elegant little ode seems to be a great favorite with the translators and commentators. It has not been thought unworthy of his genius even by the philosophical Beattie, among whose poems it is to be found translated with singular accuracy and beauty.

3 In the original it is literally a' fountain rolling or flowing with persuasion;' a beauty of expression which we must be contented to admire with very little hope of imitating, since our language seems to afford few facilities for accommodating sound to sense. Pope, no mean master of melody, has attempted it in that passage in his Art of Poetry intended to represent the whispering breeze and the flowing stream.

Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows. On this passage Dr. Johnson, in all the pride of acute, but rather ill-natured criticism, remarks, that the verse intended to represent the whisper of the vernal breeze must be confessed not much to excel in softness or volubility; and the smooth stream runs with a perpetual clash of jarring consonants.'-Rambler, vol. i. No. 92.

'Tis a scene for lovers meet,

Where each object whispers love.

The tree, the stream, the silent hour,

All persuasive, seem to say, 'Viewing such a lovely bower, Can you pass another way?'

ODE XXIII.-THE VANITY OF WEALTH.

COULD glittering heaps, or golden store,
Life preserve, or health restore,

Then with ceaseless, anxious pain,
Riches I would strive to gain,'
That, should death, unwish'd-for, come,
Pointing to the dreary tomb,

I might cry, in sprightly tone,
'Here's my ransom, Death! begone!'
But, alas! since well I know
Life cannot be purchased so,
Why indulge the useless sigh?
Fate decrees that all shall die.
Vainly to our wealth we trust,
Poor or wealthy-die we must.
Present joys then let me share,
Rosy wine to banish care;

1 There is an anecdote in the history of Anacreon, recorded by Stobæus, to which this ode may possibly bear some allusion. He relates that Anacreon having received a present of five talents of gold from Polycrates, tyrant of Samos, was so embarrassed with cares and solicitudes about his treasure, that he could not sleep for two nights successively: whereon he sent back the present with this apology to his patron,That however valuable the sum might be, it was not a sufficient price for the trouble and anxiety of keeping it."