Thus, with wine and beauty bless'd, Dance the happy hours away. ODE XXVIII.—ON HIS MISTRESS.1 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; 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 versión 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. 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 man. ner 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. I paused To look upon her, and her kindled cheek; Her large black eyes, that flash'd through her long hair Along her most transparent brow; her nostril Dilated from its symmetry; her lips Apart; her voice that clove through all the din, Waved arms, more dazzling with their own born whiteness From a dead soldier's grasp; all these things made Of victory, or Victory herself, Come down to hail us hers. Lord Byron.-Sardanapalus, act 1, scene 1. Let her liquid eye of fire, Her body hide, her shape express.— She lives-she breathes-soft! did she speak? ODE XXX.-CUPID TAKEN PRISONER.' CUPID, once, was rambling found 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. But no fee, no ransom now, ODE XXXI.-PLEASING FRENSY. YES! let me let me drain the bowl, Barefooted to the mountains fled. Alcmæon too, in frantic mood, Like him was stain'd with mother's blood; His rattling quiver's dreadful sound 1 Alcmæon's father had been put to death by his mother's contrivance, whom on that account he slew. Orestes slew his mother Clytemnestra, to revenge the death of his father Agamemnon, who at his return from the Trojan war had been murdered by her and her lover Ægisthus. 2 Iphitus was slain by Hercules, who carried off his bow. 3 When the armor of Achilles was adjudged to Ulysses, Ajax was so enraged at the affront that he went mad; and falling on a flock of sheep, whom he took for Grecians, he first slew them and then himself. 4 Hector and Ajax made an exchange of presents, which But though with wine I mad should be, No dreadful bow or sword I bear, A flowery garland decks my hair. ODE XXXII. ON THE NUMBER OF HIS MISTRESSES. If thou canst number o'er to me Every leaf on every tree, Or count the ceaseless waves that roar Against the billow-beaten shore, Thou sufficient skill hast proved; Thou shalt count the names I've loved. The trifling sum two thousand call. What! think'st thou that I yet have done ? Resume thy tablets-one by one,2 gave birth to a proverb, that the presents of enemies are generally fatal;' for with this sword Ajax killed himself. 1 Corinth, the metropolis of Achaia, was famous for beautiful women. 2 The page to whom Anacreon is here making this extrava |