DEAR artist, while I wake the string,
Paint thou the lovely scenes I sing;
First, let my fix'd, delighted eyes,
Behold a well-built city rise;
And with inventive skill portray
Its people happy, blithe and gay.
Describe the Bacchanalian throng,
Engaged in festive dance and song;
Where, whilst the shrill-voiced pipe is mute,
Is heard the softly-breathing flute.
And if the crowded space permit,1
To make the blissful scene complete,
Let happy pairs be seen to rove,
Intent on life's best bus'ness-love.
SEE! the youthful god descends;
Bacchus, who the youth befriends,
Strings his nerves, strong toil to bear,
Courage gives to win the fair ;
1 Allusion is here again made to the famous shield of Achilles, thus described by Homer:
Two cities radiant on the shield appear,
The image one of peace, and one of war;
Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight,
And solemn dance and hymeneal rite;
Along the streets the new-made brides are led,
With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed:
The youthful dancers in a circle bound
To the soft flute and cittern's silver sound;
Through the fair streets the matrons in a row
Stand in the porches, and enjoy the show.
Pope's Homer's Iliad.
Graceful ease and skill bestows,
When the vigorous dancer glows.
In his hand behold he bears
An antidote for human cares;
Bless'd with which poor mortals gain
Pleasure's draught unmix'd with pain.
He preserves the future wine,
While the crimson clusters shine,
Ere the juice is taught to flow,
Sweet assuager of our woe.
Wine, the cure of every ill,'
Proves the best physician still;
All its happy patients find
Health of body, ease of mind.
Sound in mind-in body sound,
While the rolling year goes round,
Till the grapes again appear,
Med'cine for another year.
ON A MEDAL REPRESENTING VENUS.
WHAT matchless skill! what art divine
On this bright silver medal shine!
1 A similar passage occurs in the Odyssey, book iv., in which the princess Helen is introduced mixing this sovereign cordial :
Meantime with genial joy to warm the soul,
Bright Helen mix'd a mirth-inspiring bowl;
Temper'd with drugs of sovereign use, t' assuage
The boiling bosom of tumultuous rage;
To clear the cloudy front of wrinkled care,
And dry the tearful sluices of despair.
Charm'd with that virtuous draught, th' exalted mind
All sense of woe delivers to the wind.-Fenton.
On every side; above, below,
The floods of ocean seem to flow;
While softly gliding, calm and clear,
The undulating waves appear.
Some heav'n-taught genius, in its flight,
Has dared attempt the wondrous sight'
Of Venus, love's soft deity,
Emerging from the silver sea.
What bright and dazzling beauties rise
To charm the gazer's ravish'd eyes!
And those the jealous waves conceal,
Sure none but impious hands reveal.
She, like some sea-flower, fresh and gay,
Shines glittering on her watery way.
Where'er the lovely goddess swims,
Obsequious billows kiss her limbs;
Now rise above, now sink below
Her rose-bud breasts and neck of snow.
As virgin lilies brighter show
Amid the dark-leaved violet's glow,
So through the dark-blue wave is seen
The beauteous form of love's dear queen.
See, gaily sporting at her side,
Young laughing Loves on dolphins ride,
And o'er the silvery surface glide.
The crooked natives of the deep,
With wanton curve and bounding leap,
Attend the goddess in her train,
Where'er she smiling skims the main.
1 Many a poet has dared attempt the description. Tickel in his Prospect of Peace' has the following lines:
As when sweet Venus, so the fable sings,
Awaked by Nereids, from the ocean springs;
With smiles she sees the threat'ning billows rise,
Spreads smooth the surge, and clears the louring skies:
Light o'er the deep with fluttering Cupids crown'd
The pearly conch and silver turtles bound;
er tresses shed ambrosial odors round.
Now ripen'd by the genial sun,
The grapes are glean'd; the sports begun.
See youths and smiling virgins bear1
The purple produce of the year;
In vats the luscious burden lies,
And home the modest maiden hies:
For joyous youths alone remain,
With blood-red juice their limbs to stain,2
To crush the cluster's bloomy pride,
And revel in the crimson tide.
Then loud they raise the vintage hymn,
When foaming o'er the vessel's brim
They view the joy-inspiring juice,
Which Bacchus sends them for their use.
Should hoary age inhale the draught,
His youth renew'd, at least in thought,
His tott'ring, trembling limbs advance,
And try the long-forgotten dance.
But when the youth its influence feels,
When wine prevails, and reason reels;
When wandering through the lonely grove
His heart beats high with hopes of love;
1 Fair maids and blooming youths, that smiling bear, The purple product of th' autumnal year.-Pope.
2 We are informed by travellers that the ancient custom of treading the grapes is still practised in many of the wine countries. Matthews, in his Diary of an Invalid,' has given us a full description of this disgusting process, which he witnessed in Portugal. After the juice is crushed out it is put into vats to ferment itself fine, during which process all impurities are carefully removed. It may however be proper to mention, that of late years wine-presses have come into more general use.
If there, beneath the secret shade,
He chance to spy some lovely maid,
Who, press'd by sleep's invading pow'r,
Lies slumb'ring midst the leafy bower,
Herself the fairest, frailest flower,-
Before the startled maid can rouse
He breathes his hasty, burning vows,
And while his breast with Bacchus glows,
His lawless love he dares propose.
In vain the angry fair denies,
He better reads her tell-tale eyes;
And sure of victory ere 'tis won,
His eager suit he urges on;
And when his soft persuasion fails,
Rude, boisterous Bacchus oft prevails:
And thus the wanton god decoys
The youth to wild intemperate joys.
THOU, my friend, shalt sweep the string,
I, in softest strains will sing,
While its fragrance round us flows,
The queen of flowers-the lovely rose.
Its perfumed breath ascends the skies
On every gentle gale that sighs:
Its sweets descend to earth again,
Alike beloved by gods and men.
When Spring awakes the slumbering flowers,
And music breathes amidst the bowers,
1 This ode will be understood by supposing that Anacreon while celebrating a rose, requests a lyrist to accompany his voice.
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