Thee, darling gem, the Graces wear
Entwined amid their flowing hair;
And rosy wreaths alone may dress
The queen of love and loveliness.
In every song and fable known 1
The Muses claim thee as their own.
Thou bidd'st thy blooming sweetness blow
In thorny paths of pain and woe.

But, oh! what joy, when bless'd we rove
Through rosy bowers, and dream of love;
While bliss on every breeze is borne,
To pluck the rose without the thorn;
With gentlest touch its leaves to press,
And raise it to our soft caress!

O! thou art still the poet's theme,

And thee a welcome guest we deem,

1 The editor of an ingenious little edition of this author observes: Did Anacreon anticipate the beautiful fable of the rose Sultana of the Nightingale,' so justly a favorite with later eastern poets?

All the country is now full of nightingales, whose amours with roses is an Arabian fable, as well known here as any part of Ovid amongst us.'-Lady Montague's Letters.

For well may maids of Helle deem

That this can be no earthly flower,
Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
And buds unshelter'd by a bower;

Nor droops, though Spring refuse her shower,
Nor woos the summer beam:
To it the livelong night there sings

A bird unseen, but not remote:
Invisible his airy wings,

But soft as harp that Houri strings
His long entrancing note!

It were the bulbul; but his throat,

Though mournful, pours not such a strain :

For they who listen cannot leave

The spot, but linger there and grieve

As if they loved in vain !-Bride of Abydos.

The reader will, I trust, pardon the length of this extract, on account of its enchanting beauty.

To grace our feasts and deck our hair,
When Bacchus bids us banish care.
E'en Nature does thy beauties prize,
She steals thy tints to paint the skies;
For rosy-finger'd is the morn

With which the crimson veil is drawn.
The lovely nymphs we always deck
With rosy arms and rosy neck,

And roseate tints are ever seen

To bloom the cheeks of beauty's queen.

Its power to soothe the pangs of pain1
Physicians try, nor try in vain;

And e'en when life and hope is fled
Its deathless scent embalms the dead:
For, though its withering charms decay,
And, one by one, all fade away,

Its grateful smell the rose retains,
And redolent of youth remains.2

But, lyrist, let it next be sung

From whence this precious treasure sprung—
When first from Ocean's dewy spray

Fair Venus rose to upper day;

When, fearful to the powers above,
The armed Pallas sprung from Jove;
'Twas then they say the jealous earth
First gave the lovely stranger birth.
A drop of pure nectareous dew

From heaven the bless'd immortals threw ;

Awhile it trembled on the thorn,

And then the lovely rose was born.

1 In Anacreon's time roses were frequently used medi

cinally.

2 And redolent of joy and youth

To breathe a second spring.

Gray's ode to Eton College.

To Bacchus they the flower assign,
And roses still his brows entwine.

ODE LIV.-ON HIMSELF.

WHILST I view the youthful throng,
Fancy whispers I am young;

To the merry dance I fly,
Who so gay, so brisk as I?
Haste, Cybele, bring me flowers,
Bring sweet roses from the bowers;
Quick a graceful garland twine,
Youthful vigor still is mine.
Hateful, hoary age, away!
Let me sport with striplings gay;
Bring the bright autumnal bowl-
Age can ne'er subdue the soul.
Still I raise the cheerful strain,
Still the brimming bowl I drain;
Still, with native humor gay,
Sport the happy hours away!

ODE LV.-THE LOVER'S MARK.

THE Courser bears a brand of fire,
To mark his owner, or his sire;
The turban, twisted round his brows,'
The fiery foreign Parthian shows;

1 The tiara worn by the ancient Parthians resembled the modern turban. Addison has translated from Dionysius the following description of the situation and manners of this ancient people :

Beyond the Caspian straits those realms extend,
Where circling bows the martial Parthians bend.

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.