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Then let us anxious thoughts dismiss,
And pledge the cup to scenes of bliss ;
For what avails heart-rending care,
Since mortal man is sorrow's heir,
How short his life's uncertain date?1
Unknown and dark his future state.
But when the brimming bowl I drain
I love to dance along the plain,
With sweet perfumes to bathe my hair,
And frolic with the young and fair.
Let anxious idiots still despise
The joys which wiser men will prize.
Then, while the jovial cup goes round,
To Bacchus let the song resound.

ODE XLII. ON HIMSELF.

A FRIEND to mirth and harmless sport,
I love the dance which Bacchus taught.
I dearly love to wake the lyre
When wine or love my lays inspire;
But dearer, sweeter joys I prove,
When with gay smiling maids I rove;
While hyacinths sweet odors breathe,
And round my brows their blossoms wreathe.
My heart from envious thoughts is free,2
And even Envy still spares me:

1 The ancient poets all agree in enforcing the necessity of enjoying life, on account of its brevity and uncertainty. Martial says,

I'll live to-morrow, none but fools will say:
To-morrow is too late-live then to day.

If this be true in the sense in which they meant it, how much more forcibly will it apply to our own altered views and circumstances!

2 Such sentiments as these do honor to the poet, and establish his claim to the title of the wise Anacreon,'

From Slander's venom'd tongue I fly,
And shun the shafts of calumny.
Fierce quarrels o'er the festive board
My honest heart has e'er abhorr'd:
But, dancing to the lute's soft strain,
I love to join the blooming train.
O! let us banish barb'rous strife,
And lead a happy, peaceful life.1

ODE XLIII.-ON THE GRASSHOPPER.2

HAPPY insect! all agree

None can be more bless'd than thee;

Thou, for joy and pleasure born,

Sipp'st the honied dew of morn.

Happier than the sceptred king,
Midst the boughs we hear thee sing.
All the season's varied store,

All thy little eyes explore,

Fruits that tempt, and flowers that shine,

Happy insect! all are thine.

Injuring nothing, blamed by none,
Farmers love thee-pretty one!
All rejoice thy voice to hear
Singing blithe when summer's near.
Thee the tuneful Muses love,
Sweetly chirping in the grove ;

1 Anacreon seems to have esteemed greatest blessing of life: thus, ode 39, are my theme.'

tranquillity as the Peaceful pleasures

2 This insect, though called a grasshopper, is certainly of a very different species of locust from that so common in our fields and meadows. Indeed its habit of settling on trees is of itself a sufficient distinction. I am not aware that it has any proper English name, though by some writers it is called the cicada, or cicala.

Thee the great Apollo bless'd
With a voice above the rest.
Thou from wasting age art free,
Time has nought to do with thee.
Skilful creature, child of song,
Though to earth thou dost belong,1
Free from Nature's woes and pains,
Free from flesh, or blood-fill'd veins,2
Happy thing! thou seem'st to me
Almost a little god to be!

ODE XLIV.-THE DREAM.3

I DREAM'D, that over earth and sky,
Possess'd with wings, I seem'd to fly ;

1 The ancient Athenians compared themselves to these insects, either on account of their skill in music, or because like them they were descended from the earth. They likewise wore golden ornaments in their hair, resembling grasshoppers. The Chinese ladies still wear fastened to their heads by springs small golden figures of a bird, the wings of which flutter with the slightest motion.

2 Homer represents the gods as being free from blood; and, speaking of Venus being wounded, he says,

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From the clear vein a stream immortal flow'd,
Such stream as issues from a wounded god;
Pure emanation! uncorrupted flood!
Unlike our gross, diseased, terrestrial blood.
(For not the bread of man their life sustains,
Nor wine's inflaming juice supplies their veins.)
Pope's Homer, book v.

3 Madame Dacier says that this is one of the finest and most gallant odes of antiquity, and if she for whom it was composed was as beautiful, all Greece could produce nothing more charming. Its meaning seems to be simply this, that passion suddenly conceived is generally transient and fleeting; but love founded on esteem and regulated by reason, though slow in its approaches, and imperceptible in its growth, makes an impression on the heart at once permanent and indelible.

While Love pursued with swiftest pace,
And soon o'ertook me in the chase;
Though at his little feet were hung
Large leaden weights, that loosely swung.
'What can this vision mean?' I cried;
'It surely may be thus applied,-
That I, who once could freely rove
Through all the flowery paths of love,
Who laugh'd at lovers and their pains,
Am fetter'd now with stronger chains.'

ODE XLV.-CUPID'S DARTS.

THE rugged mate of love's soft queen
Was at the Lemnian forges seen ;1
And while their fires intensely glow,
Was forging darts for Cupid's bow ;
Sharp-pointed shafts of polish'd steel,
Which human hearts so keenly feel.
The gentle Venus, for her part,
In honey dipp'd each finish'd dart ;
But cruel Cupid took them all,
And steep'd their barbed points in gall.
Returning from the battle rude,

The mighty Mars their bus'ness view'd;

1 Lemnos was an island in the Egean sea, sacred to Vulcan, who, in the first book of the Iliad, gives an account of Jupiter's throwing him from heaven, and his fall on that island.

Once in your cause I felt his matchless might,

Hurl'd headlong downward from th' ethereal height;
Toss'd all the day in rapid circles round;

Nor till the sun descended touch'd the ground:
Breathless I fell, in giddy motion lost;

The Sinthians raised me on the Lemnian coast.

Pope's Homer.

And, leaning on his massy spear,'

'What use,' he cried, with scornful sneer,
These puny darts-these trifling toys-

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Mere playthings-only fit for boys?'

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'Hold!' Cupid cries, here's one-try this,
You'll find it not so much amiss;

'Tis strongly made; and, for its size,
Its weight will cause you much surprise.'
The god received it. Venus tried
To check her laugh, and turn'd aside ;
But Mars, with sudden grief possess'd,2
Cried, groaning from his inmost breast,
This little shaft gives wondrous pain;
Here-take it-take it back again.'

6

Nay, Mars, I give it with good will;
Pray keep the pretty plaything still.'

ODE XLVI.-THE POWER OF GOLD.

A THOUSAND pains we lovers prove,3
Still what were life devoid of love?

1 The proportions of the spear and arrow are finely contrasted. The tiny weapon makes the deeper wound.

2 This sentiment is extremely beautiful; intimating that one cannot even touch the darts of Cupid with safety. Moschus concludes his first idyllium with a similar thought: Perhaps he'll say, 'Alas! no harm I know, Here take my darts, my arrows, and my bow.' Ah! touch them not, fallacious is his aim, His darts, his arrows, all are tipt with flame.-Fawkes.

3 Oh, love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved?

Ah! why

With cypress branches hast thou wreath'd thy bowers,
And made thy best interpreter a sigh?

As those who doat on odors pluck the flowers,

And place them on their breast-but place to die.

Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish

Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

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