Page images
PDF
EPUB

And I by instinct sure can tell

The lover's mark-I know it well;
For love in vain concealment tries,
The soul peeps through the tell-tale eyes.'

ODE LVI.—ON HIS OLD AGE.2

ALAS! my youth, my joys have fled,
The snows of age have bleach'd my head.
Tedious, toothless, trembling age,
Must now, alone, my thoughts engage!
Adieu, ye joys which once I knew-
To life, to love, to all, adieu!

Henceforth, unhappy! doom'd to know
Tormenting fears of future woe!

O! how my soul with horror shrinks3
Whene'er my startled fancy thinks

Versed only in the rougher arts of war,

No fields they wound, nor urge the shining share;
No ships they boast to stem the rolling tide,
Nor lowing herds o'er flow'ry meadows guide :
But infants wing the feather'd shaft for flight,
And rein the fiery steed with fond delight.
On every plain the whistling spear alarms,
The neighing courser, and the clang of arms;
For there no food the little heroes taste

Till warlike sweat has earn'd the short repast.

1 The eyes, the windows of the soul, are notorious tell-tales of what is passing within.

2 It is supposed by many that the five following odes were not written by Anacreon; but as Barnes admits them into his edition, and they are given in most other translations, it was thought proper to insert them here.

3 Let the reader contrast this exclamation of the despairing heathen philosopher with the exulting language of Paul the aged' when ready to be offered, and the time of his departure at hand.

Of Pluto's dark and dreary cave,
The chill, the cheerless, gaping grave!

When Death's cold hand has closed these eyes,
And stifled life's last struggling sighs,

In darkness and in dust must I,
Alas! for ever-ever lie!

ODE LVII.-THAT MODERATION ENHANCES ENJOYMENT.

HASTE; haste thee, boy, and bring the bowl,

To quench this fever of the soul;

The copious stream with skill combine,

Add ten parts water, five of wine ;1
The cooling draught will thirst assuage,
Nor in the breast too fiercely rage.
O cease, my friends, for shame, give o'er
These clamorous shouts, this deaf'ning roar ;
This Scythian scene all peace destroys ;2
Turns joy to madness, mirth to noise.
Let cheerful temperance rule the soul,
The best ingredient in the bowl.

1 Hesiod, with all the minuteness of narrative old age,' gives many directions to be observed in the summer season. Among the rest, in book ii., he thus advises us :

With Byblian wine the rural feast be crown'd,

Three parts of water, let the bowl go round.-Cooke.

2 The Scythians were particularly remarkable for their intemperance in drinking, and for quarrelling in their cups.

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors]

Of Pluto's dark and dreary cave,
The chill, the cheerless, gaping grave!
When Death's cold hand has closed these eyes,
And stifled life's last struggling sighs,

In darkness and in dust must I,
Alas! for ever-ever lie!

ODE LVII.-THAT MODERATION ENHANCES

ENJOYMENT.

HASTE; haste thee, boy, and bring the bowl,

To quench this fever of the soul;

The copious stream with skill combine,

Add ten parts water, five of wine ;1
The cooling draught will thirst assuage,
Nor in the breast too fiercely rage.

O cease, my friends, for shame, give o'er
These clamorous shouts, this deaf'ning roar ;
This Scythian scene all peace destroys ;2
Turns joy to madness, mirth to noise.
Let cheerful temperance rule the soul,
The best ingredient in the bowl.

1 Hesiod, with all the minuteness of narrative old age,' gives many directions to be observed in the summer season. Among the rest, in book ii., he thus advises us :

With Byblian wine the rural feast be crown'd,

Three parts of water, let the bowl go round.-Cooke.

2 The Scythians were particularly remarkable for their intemperance in drinking, and for quarrelling in their cups.

ODE LVIII.-LOVE IN THE HEART.

As once, amidst the rosy bowers,
I wove a crown of fairest flowers,
Love, little urchin, lurking sly
Beneath the leaves I chanced to spy;
Around his wings the wreath I twine,
And plunge him in a cup of wine :
Then love, in each delicious draught,
I from the foaming goblet quaff’d.
O! still he moves his fluttering wings,
Still to my heart strange transport brings.

ODE LIX.-ON HIMSELF.2

METHOUGHT, in sleep's delightful trance,
I saw Anacreon advance;

The tuneful Teian, skill'd to sing
The lays of love on warbling string.
I hasten'd to his kind embrace,
And kiss'd his sweetly-smiling face.
Though somewhat old, he seemed to wage
Successful war with spiteful age:

1 This ode is by some ascribed to Julian, a king of Egypt, who wrote several other elegant little pieces. Being supposed to possess much beauty, it is given in most translations of Anacreon, and is consequently inserted here.

2 In the Vatican copy this is placed as the first of Anacreon's odes. By many it is thought that he was not the author, because he himself is the subject of it. Barnes endeavors to prove that he was, by a reference to the ninth ode, in which Anacreon makes mention of himself, and to similar instances of poets introducing their names in their

works.

« PreviousContinue »