Cheerful friends that faithful prove,
Beauty's smiles and blissful love.

ODE XXIV.-LIFE TO BE ENJOYED.'

BORN a mortal; doom'd to tread

Life's rough path of pain and woe,

All the past with ease is read,
But the future who can know?

Hence! away, distracting cares,
Make no fellowship with me;
Point not to my silvering hairs,
You and I shall ne'er agree.

Ere Fate forbid all farther joy,
First amid the festive throng,
Bacchus shall my hours employ

With mirth and dance and joyous song.

ODE XXV. THE CURE FOR CARE.

WHEN with gloomy griefs oppress'd,

Wine can charm those griefs to rest;
Toil and trouble, care and woe,
I'm determined ne'er to know.
Though in care my life were pass'd,
Cruel death would come at last.
Shall I ever anxious grieve?

Shall I thus myself deceive?

1 These odes are all nearly similar in subject, and present nothing particularly worthy of remark or illustration.

No! we'll drain the rosy bowl,
'Tis a cordial for the soul;
"Tis a charm that lulls to rest
Every anxious, aching breast.

ODE XXVI.-IN PRAISE OF WINE.

WHEN the nectar'd bowl I drain
Gloomy cares forego their reign;
Richer than the Lydian king,
Hymns of love and joy I sing;
Ivy wreaths my temples twine,
And, while careless I recline,
While bright scenes my vision greet,
Tread the world beneath my feet.
Fill the cup, my trusty page,
Anacreon, the blithe and sage,
As his maxim, ever said,

Those slain by wine are noble dead.

ODE XXVII.-THE SAME SUBJECT.

WHEN the generous god of wine,
Bacchus, son of Jove divine,
Frees my soul from anxious care,
Fills my breast and revels there,
Then I lead the mazy dance,
Rapt in pleasure's giddy trance.
O! what transports then I prove-
Sweet the joys of wine and love!
Music breathes its softest strains,
Venus too with Bacchus reigns.

Thus, with wine and beauty bless'd,
Thus I charm my cares to rest,
Ever joyous, blithe and gay,

Dance the happy hours away.

ODE XXVIII.—ON HIS MISTRESS.'

BEST of painters, lend thy aid,

Draw the lines of light and shade;

Master of the Rhodian art,2

Paint the charmer of my heart;
Absent though the maiden be,
Beauties I'll describe to thee,3

1 The version of this ode, first published in the Guardian, is adopted both by Addison and Fawkes; but however beautiful and spirited it may be thought, another translator, Mr. Girdlestone, shrewdly remarks, that no painter could make a beautiful picture from a description which leaves out the nose. In the original not a single feature is omitted; and therefore the version above mentioned must be defective.

2 The Rhodians were, according to Pindar, the first people acquainted with the arts of painting and sculpture.

3 To give the reader an opportunity of judging whether or not this picture be too highly drawn, I have transcribed the following passage from a work deservedly held in the highest estimation:

'The women, as I have intimated, are handsome; indeed you rarely meet with an ugly face among them. The form of the head, the general cast of countenance, are classical; and in their profile I have frequently found that exquisite, gentlycurving line, we see in ancient Greek statues and medals, (and which we have been accustomed to consider the line of ideal beauty,) identified in real flesh and blood.' Their large, black eyes, with long lashes, and their delicatelyarched eye-brows; the latter, when not denaturalised and spoiled by the too common practice of dying them, are the finest I have ever seen.'-M'Farlane's Constantinople, vol. i. p. 99. And again, The Greek village of Panagea, situated on the sea-shore, to the south of Chesme, is celebrated for

Thou, undazzled, ne'er could'st see.
Paint her dark and glossy hair,
Flowing down her neck so fair:
Farther yet I must presume,
Let it seem to breathe perfume..
Her iv'ry forehead next thy care,
Shining midst her jet-black hair;
Let thy utmost skill be seen
In the dainty space between,
Where by sable archers cross'd,
Where the less'ning shade is lost.

the beauty of its women; but throughout these regions the sex is universally handsome and graceful. Poverty, that cruel enemy to the charms of the person, as well as of the mind, cannot destroy their attractions: the bright, intelligent, large black eye beams, the clear complexion, the exquisite Grecian nose, mouth and chin, the classical contour, are there, in spite of its wrongs; and an innate grace of manner and motion developes itself through the covering of rags. I do not seek the recondite causes of this peculiarity; but, be it descent from a superior race, be it the soil and clime, such are the women of Ionia.'-Ibid, p. 201.

Perhaps the reader would be pleased to see a portrait of the fair Ionian' in another light, by a master whose unrivalled pencil has left all competitors at an immeasurable dis

tance:

-You see, this night

Made warriors of more than me.

paused

To look upon her, and her kindled cheek;

Her large black eyes, that flash'd through her long hair
As it stream'd o'er her; her blue veins, that rose
Along her most transparent brow; her nostril
Dilated from its symmetry; her lips

Apart; her voice that clove through all the din,
As a lute's pierceth through the cymbal's clash,
Jarr'd but not drown'd by the loud brattling; her

Waved arms, more dazzling with their own born whiteness
Than the steel her hand held, which she caught up

From a dead soldier's grasp; all these things made
Her seem unto the troops a prophetess

Of victory, or Victory herself,

Come down to hail us hers.

Lord Byron.-Sardanapalus, act 1, scene 1.

Let her liquid eye of fire,
Like Minerva's, awe inspire;
With Cytherea's softness too
Temper the celestial blue;
Paint her lovely cheek and nose,
Blending milk with blush of rose;
Paint her pretty, pouting lips,
Where the bee its honey sips,
Where Persuasion sits and smiles,
With a thousand winning wiles.
Every pleasing grace must deck
Her pretty dimpled chin and neck;
And, let nameless beauties dwell
In her bosom's gentle swell.
In a thin and purple dress

Veil this form of loveliness:

Her body hide, her shape express.-
Enough! no farther proof I seek,

She lives-she breathes-soft! did she speak?

ODE XXX.-CUPID TAKEN PRISONER.!

CUPID, once, was rambling found
On the Muses' hallow'd ground;
Straight they weave a rosy chain,
And the little god detain.
Him to Beauty soon they gave,
Mighty Love is Beauty's slave,
Cytherea ransoms brought,

To release her son she sought;

1 This ode is very fine, and the fiction extremely ingenious. I believe Anacreon would inculcate that beauty alone cannot long secure a conquest, but that when wit and beauty meet it is impossible for a lover to disengage himself.'-Madame Dacier.