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ODE X.-ON A WAXEN CUPID.

A WAXEN Cupid, nicely wrought,

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A rustic youth for sale had brought.

Say, what's your price, my friend,' I cried,
When thus the silly clown replied,

In Doric phrase,' devoid of skill:
'E'en take him, sir, for what you will:
'Tis cheap, you'll say; but, truth to tell,
No images I make or sell.

But as for this young rogue you see,

He must not-shall not dwell with me.’

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If so, my pretty youth,' I said,

'Our bargain shall be quickly made:
To you this little coin I'll give,2
And, Cupid, thou with me shalt live.
And do thou now my breast inspire,
There kindle all thy former fire:
O let me boast a lover's name,

Or thou thyself shalt melt in flame.'3

1 The Doric dialect was remarkable for its broadness and harshness. It was the most ancient of the four, and was used only by the common people of Greece. It is not therefore without reason, as the commentators have remarked, that Anacreon makes this young rustic speak it, since he was so insensible to the charms of love as to wish to get rid even of his image.

2 In the Greek it is a drachm, an Attic coin worth about nine pence English, or, according to some, only seven pence three farthings, or eight pence farthing.

3 Barnes observes that the ancient heathens used to treat the images of their gods in the same manner as they fancied they had been treated by them. The modern Indians, when any calamity befalls them, are accustomed to chastise their idols with scourges.

ODE XI.-ON HIMSELF.'

ANACREON,' the lasses say,

Old fellow, you have had your day :
Consult your mirror, mark with care,2
How scanty now your silver hair :3
Old wintry Time has shed his snows,
And bald and bare your forehead shows.'
But, faith! I know not where they're gone,
Or if I've any left-or none;

But this I know, that every day

Shall see me sportive, blithe and gay;

For 'tis our wisdom so to do

The nearer death appears in view.

ODE XII.-ON A SWALLOW.

WHAT punishment shall I decree,
Vexatious, chattering bird, to thee?

1 However successfully the spirit and meaning of this author may sometimes be preserved, it is impossible to convey an adequate idea of that facility of thought and easiness of expression which are so peculiarly his own. What would in others justly be considered the perfection of art, in him appears perfectly natural; and one might almost imagine that his numbers flowed spontaneously to the warblings of his lyre. These remarks are particularly applicable to this ode, which, for simplicity and playfulness of expression is inferior to no one in the collection.

2 Before the invention of glass mirrors were used made of brass or some other metal, and sometimes of stones highly polished.

3 It was remarked by an ancient author that Venus herself, if destitute of hair, would not, though surrounded by the Loves and Graces, have had charms sufficient to please her husband Vulcan.

Say, shall I clip thy restless wing?
Or, like the cruel Thracian king,1

Tear out that tongue whose noisy scream
Has roused me from so sweet a dream?
For, oh! methought my love was nigh,
"Till, startled by thy twittering cry,
She fled upon the wings of morn,2
And left me joyless and forlorn.

ODE XIII.-ON HIMSELF.

POOR Atys, as old poets sing,
O'er the wild mountains wandering,
Degraded from his former state,
Cybele's love now turned to hate,
With plaintive cries invoked relief,
Till madness brought an end to grief.

1 Tereus, king of Thrace, for whose story the reader is referred to the sixth book of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Though Anacreon seems to adopt the less usual acceptation of the fable, that it was Philomela, and not Progne, who was transformed into a swallow.

2 Horace has a similar idea in the first ode of the fourth book, which has been thus admirably imitated by Pope :

Thee, dress'd in fancy's airy beam,

Absent I follow through th' extended dream;
Now, now I seize, I clasp thy charms,

And now you burst (ah, cruel!) from my arms;
And swiftly shoot along the mall,

Or softly glide by the canal ;

Now shorn by Cynthia's silver ray,

And now on rolling waters snatch'd away.

3 Atys was a young Phrygian of great beauty, beloved by Cybele, the mother of the gods, who afflicted him with madness for violating his vow of chastity. According to Ovid he was afterwards turned into a pine-tree.

And some who to the waters throng,
Of laurell'd Phoebus, god of song,
At Claros drink the vocal wave,1
And with prophetic fury rave;
Then shall not I when wine inspires,
And Chloe's eyes dart love's bright fires,
When bathed in sweets, without alloy,
And rapt in wild, delirious joy,
Refuse awhile stern reason's sway,
And be as madly wild as they?

ODE XIV.-ON CUPID.2

CEASE, cease the combat, I'll obey,
O mighty Love! I own thy sway.
Cupid plann'd a new campaign,
And bade me join his camp again;
But I, grown weary of the trade,
Like a rebel disobey'd.

Straight the monarch, much displeased,
His dreadful bow and quiver seized,
And, wafted on his pinions light,
Defied me to the field of fight.

1 Claros was a city of Ionia, near Colophon, and was famous for a fountain sacred to Apollo. The term vocal alludes to the property which the waters of this spring were said to have of imparting to those who drank of them the gift of prophecy.

2 In this ode Anacreon intends to show the irresistible power of mighty love;' and he here represents himself as contending with Cupid armed with a spear and shield. The combat is described with much spirit; but in the end the arrows of his antagonist achieve the victory. The poet coneludes with an admirable reflection on the uselessness of defending the outposts, when the enemy has already entered.

Then clad for war, like Peleus' son,
A corselet bright I buckled on;

With ample shield and quivering spear,
I waited till the foe drew near.

His bow-string twang'd-then seized with dread,
My courage fail'd—I trembling fled.

He plied his darts till all were spent ;
Nor did his anger then relent:
Himself he changed into a dart,

And shot like lightning through my heart.'
Ah me! I felt my life-blood flow;
I sunk beneath my conquering foe.
How vainly then a shield I wear!
In vain defensive arms I bear;
For victory who can hope to win
While fiercely burns the war within?

ODE XV.-HAPPY LIFE.

FAMED Gyges' treasures I could see,2
From envious thoughts and wishes free.

1 This thought is very beautiful and ingenious. It is taken from an ancient piece of gallantry, which ought not to be passed over in silence. The heroes of antiquity, when in any desperate engagement they found their darts spent, their strength exhausted, and saw no prospect of surviving long, would collect all their spirits and strength, and rush headlong with amazing impetuosity on their enemies, that even in death the weight of their bodies, thus violently agitated, might bear down their adversaries.'-Fawkes.

2 According to Herodotus, Gyges was the favorite of Candaules, king of Lydia, whose queen was remarkably and passionately admired by her husband. In his vanity he extolled her charms above measure to Gyges, and, to convince him of her beauty, determined to give him an opportunity of seeing her undressing. This he effected, but not without

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