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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.

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,1

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

Cheerful friends that faithful prove,

Beauty's smiles and blissful love.

ODE XXIV.-LIFE TO BE ENJOYED.1

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 prese 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.

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