University of Virginia Library

THE ODES OF ANACREON.

Translated from the Greek.

ODE I. ON HIS LYRE.

ODE III. CUPID BENIGHTED.

ODE IV. ON HIMSELF.

Reclin'd at ease on this soft Bed
With fragrant Leaves of Myrtle spread
And flow'ry Lote, I'll now resign
My Cares, and quaff the rosy Wine.
In decent Robe, behind him bound,
Cupid shall serve the Goblet round:
For fast away our Moments steal,
Like the swift Chariot's rolling Wheel:
The rapid Course is quickly done,
And soon the Race of Life is run;
Then, then, alas! we droop, we die,
And sunk in Dissolution lie;
Our Frame no Symmetry retains;
Nought but a little Dust remains.
Why on the Tomb are Odours shed?
Why pour'd Libations to the dead?
To me, far better, while I live,
Rich Wines and balmy Fragrance give;
Now, now, the rosy Wreath prepare,
And hither call the lovely Fair.
Now, while I draw my vital Breath,
Ere yet I lead the Dance of Death,
For Joy my Sorrows I'll resign,
And drown my Cares in rosy Wine.

ODE V. ON THE ROSE.

ODE VI. THE PARTY OF PLEASURE.

While Roses round our Temples twine,
We'll gayly quaff the sparkling Wine:
And, lo! the love-alluring Fair
Her Thyrsus brandishes in Air,
With clust'ring Ivy wreath'd around
Whose Branches yield a rustling Sound;
With graceful Ease her Steps she suits
To Notes of soft Ionian Lutes.
A Youth, whose Hair luxuriant flows
In Curls, with Breath ambrosial blows
The well-pair'd Pipes, and, sweetly clear,
Pours melting Music on the Ear.
Here Cupid too with golden Hair,
And Bacchus, ever young and fair,
With Cytherea, who inspires
Delightful Thoughts and warm Desires,
Gay-smiling join the festive Train,
And make an old Man young again.

ODE VII. THE POWER OF LOVE.

Love, waving awful in his Hand
His Hyacinth-encircled Wand,
Forc'd me, averse, with him to run;
In vain I strove the Task to shun.
Swift o'er the Plain our Course we ply'd,
Thro' foaming Floods, o'er-Forests wide,
O'er Hills where Rocks impending hung,
Till me, alas! a Serpent stung:
Sore heav'd my Heart with dire Dismay,
My Spirits sunk—I dy'd away—
Pleas'd Cupid caught my trembling Hand,
My Face with his soft Pinions fann'd,
And cry'd, ‘Since now my Pow'r you prove,
‘Dare you still boast, you will not love?’

ODE VIII. THE DREAM.

As on a purple Bed supine,
Rapt in the pleasing Joys of Wine,
I lull'd my weary Limbs to Rest,
Methought, with Nymphs supremely blest,
A beauteous Band, I urg'd the Chace,
Contending in the rapid Race;
While fairest Youths, with Envy stung,
Fair as Lyæus ever young,
With jealous Leer, and bitter Jest,
Their keen Malevolence exprest.
Intent on Love, I strive to greet
The gamesome girls with Kisses sweet,
And, as on Pleasure's Brink I seem,
Wake, and, behold! 'tis all a Dream.
Vex'd to be thus alone in Bed,
My visionary Charmers fled,
To dream once more I close my Eyes;
Again, ye soft Illusions, rise!

ODE IX. THE DOVE.

ODE X. CUPID IN WAX.

A rustic brought, of curious Mold,
A waxen Cupid to be sold:
“What Price, I cry'd, ingenuous say,
“For this small Image shall I pay?”
“Small is the Price, reply'd the Clown,
“Take it, e'en take it at your own:
“To tell you all without a Lye,
“I make no Images, not I;
“But dare not in my Mansion trust
“This Patron of unbounded Lust.”
“If so, then for this little Coin,
“Said I, the Deity is mine.
“And now, great God, my Breast inspire,
“There kindle all thy gentle Fire:
“But, if thou fail'st to favour me,
“I swear I'll make a Fire of thee.”

ODE XII. ON A SWALLOW.

Say, chattering Bird, that dar'st invade
My Slumbers with thy Serenade,
And steal'st my visionary Bliss,
How shall I punish thee for this?
Say, shall I clip thy soaring Wing;
Or, like stern Tereus, Thracian King,
To Swallows Name of dire Dismay,
Tear by the Roots thy Tongue away?
For, with thy execrable Scream,
Thou wak'st me from a golden Dream,
And from my Arms hast snatch'd away
Phyllis the fair, the young, the gay.

ODE XIII. ON ATYS.

ODE XIV. LOVE IRRESISTIBLE.

ODE XVII. THE SILVER BOWL.

Mulciber , this Silver take,
And a curious Goblet make;
Let thy utmost Skill appear
Not in radiant Armour there;
Let me there no Battles see;
What are Arms or Wars to me?
Form it with a noble Sweep,
Very wide, and very deep.
Carve not there the northern Team,
Nor Orion's dreadful Beam;
Pleiads, Hyads, Bears displease;
What have I to do with these?
Why should slow Boötes roll,
Why should horrid Monsters prowl,
On the Margin of my Bowl?
Draw me, what I value more,
Vines with purple Clusters Store,
Bacchus ever young and fair,
Cupid with the golden Hair,
Gay Bathyllus too be there.
See that, beautiful and bold,
All these Figures rise in Gold:
In the Wine-press let them join
Hand in Hand to tread the Wine.

ODE XVIII. ON THE SAME.

[Contrive me, Artisan, a Bowl]

Contrive me, Artisan, a Bowl
Of Silver ample as my Soul;
And in the bright Compartments bring
The sweet Profusion of the Spring;
Let that fair Season, rich in Flowers,
Shed Roses in ambrosial Showers;
Yet simply plain be thy Design,
A festive Banqueting of Wine;
No Hieroglyphics let it have,
No foreign Mysteries engrave:
Let no blood-thirsty Heroes wield
Rough Armour in the silver Field;
But draw me Jove's delightful Boy,
Paschus the God of Wine and Joy:
Let Venus with light Step advance,
And with gay Hymen lead the Dance.
Beneath the Leaf-embellish'd Vine,
Full of young Grapes that promise Wine,
Let Love, without his Armour meet
The meek-ey'd Graces laughing sweet.
And on the polish'd Plain display
A Group of beauteous Boys at Play;
But no Apollo, God of Day,

ODE XIX. WE OUGHT TO DRINK.

ODE XXI. SUMMER.

ODE XXIII. THE VANITY OF RICHES.

ODE XXIV. ENJOYMENT.

Since I'm born a mortal Man,
And my Being's but a Span;
'Tis a March that I must make;
'Tis a Journey I must take:
What is past I know too well;
What is future who can tell?
Teazing Care, then set me free,
What have I to do with thee?
Ere I die, for die I must,
Ere this Body turns to Dust,
Every Moment I'll employ
In sweet Revelry and Joy,
Laugh and sing, and dance and play,
With Lyæus young and gay.

ODE XXV. WINE BANISHES CARES.

ODE XXVI. THE TRANSPORTS OF WINE.

ODE XXVII. THE PRAISE OF BACCHUS.

Bacchus , Jove's delightful Boy,
Generous God of Wine and Joy,
Still exhilarates my Soul
With the Raptures of the Bowl;
Then with feather'd Feet I bound,
Dancing in a festive Round;
Then I feel, in sparkling Wine,
Transports delicate, divine;
Then the sprightly Music warms,
Song delights, and Beauty charms:
Debonair, and light, and gay,
Thus I dance the Hours away.

ODE XXVIII. HIS MISTRESS's PICTURE.

ODE XXIX. BATHYLLUS.

ODE XXX. CUPID TAKEN PRISONER.

Late the Muses Cupid found
And with Wreaths of Roses bound,
Bound him fast, as soon as caught,
And to blooming Beauty brought.
Venus with large Ransom strove
To release the God of Love.
Vain is Ransom, vain is fee,
Love refuses to be free.
Happy in his rosy Chain,
Love with Beauty will remain.

ODE XXXI. THE PLEASING FRENZY.

ODE XXXII. THE NUMBER OF HIS MISTRESSES.

ODE XXXIII. THE SWALLOW.

Lovely Swallow, once a Year,
Pleas'd you pay your Visit here;
When our Clime the Sun-beams gild,
Here your airy Nest you build;
And, when bright Days cease to smile,
Fly to Memphis, or the Nile:
But, alas! within my Breast
Love for ever makes his Nest;
There the little Cupids lie,
Some prepare their Wings to fly,
Some unhatch'd, some form'd in Part,
Lie close nestling at my Heart,
Chirping loud; their ceaseless Noise
All my golden Peace destroys:
Some, quite fledg'd and fully grown,
Nurse the Younglings as their own;
These, when feather'd, others feed,
And thus propagate their Breed.
Dreadful Torment I sustain,
What, alas! can ease my Pain:
The vast Flocks of Loves that dwell
In my Breast no Tongue can tell.

ODE XXXIV. TO HIS MISTRESS.

Though cold Winter o'er my Brow
Sheds a scatter'd Shower of Snow,
Waving Locks of silver Hair;
Fly me not, capricious Fair.
Though the Spring's enlivening Power
Blossoms in your Beauty's Flower,
Fly me not, nor slight my Love;
In this Chaplet, lo! are wove
Lucid Colours blending bright
Roses red, and Lillies white:
We, methinks, resemble those;
I the Lilly, you the Rose.

ODE XXXV. ON THE PICTURE OF EUROPA.

This pictur'd Bull is mighty Jove,
Who meditates some Prank of Love;
On his broad Back, with pleasing Care,
He safely bears the Tyrian Fair:
Lo! buoyant on the foaming Tide,
He throws the circling Waves aside,
Securely steering through the Sea.
No other daring Bull, but He,
Would leave his Heifers on the Plain,
To tempt the Dangers of the Main.

ODE XXXVIII. ON HIMSELF.

ODE XXXIX. ON HIMSELF.

ODE XL. CUPID WOUNDED.

ODE XLI. THE BANQUET OF WINE

ODE XLII. ON HIMSELF.

When Bacchus, jolly God, invites,
In sprightly Dance my Heart delights;
When with blithe Youths I drain the Bowl,
The Lyre can harmonize my Soul:
But when, indulging amorous Play,
I frolic with the Fair and Gay,
With hyacinthine Chaplet crown'd,
Then, then the sweetest Joys abound;
My honest Heart nor Envy bears,
Nor Envy's poison'd Arrows fears;
By rankling Malice never stung,
I shun the venom-venting Tongue.
And at the jovial Banquet hate
Contentions, Battles, and Debate:
When to the Lyre's melodious Sound
With Phyllis in the Dance I bound,
The blooming Fair, the silver Lyre,
Should only Dance and Love inspire:
Then let us pass Life's peaceful Day
In Mirth and Innocence away.

ODE XLIII. THE GRASHOPPER.

Thee, sweet Grashopper, we call
Happiest of Insects all,
Who from Spray to Spray canst skip,
And the Dew of Morning sip:
Little Sips inspire to sing;
Then thou'rt happy as a King.
All, whatever thou can'st see,
Herbs and Flowers belong to thee;
All the various Seasons yield,
All the Produce of the Field.
Thou, quite innocent of Harm,
Lov'st the Farmer, and the Farm;
Singing sweet when Summer's near,
Thou to all Mankind art dear;
Dear to all the tuneful Nine
Seated round the Throne divine;
Dear to Phœbus, God of Day,
He inspir'd thy sprightly Lay,
And with Voice melodious blest,
And in vivid Colours drest.
Thou from Spoil of Time art free;
Age can never injure thee.
Wisest Daughter of the Earth!
Fond of Song, and full of Mirth;
Free from Flesh, exempt from Pains,
No Blood riots in thy Veins:
To the Blest I equal thee;
Thou'rt a Demi-Deity.

ODE XLIV. THE DREAM.

I dream'd, that late I Pinions wore,
And swiftly seem'd through Air to soar;
Me fleeter Cupid, quick as Thought,
Pursued, and in an Instant caught,
Though at his Feet hung Weights of Lead:
What can this Vision mean, I said?
Its mystic Sense I thus explain:
I, who ere-while have worn the Chain
Of many a Fair-one for a Day,
Then flung the flowery Band away,
Am now involv'd, and fetter'd fast
In Links that will for ever last.

ODE XLVI. THE POWER OF GOLD.

ODE XLVII. YOUNG OLD-AGE.

Yes, yes, I own, I love to see
Old Men facetious, blithe, and free;
I love the Youth that light can bound,
Or graceful swim th'harmonious Round:
But when Old-Age jocose, though grey,
Can dance and frolic with the Gay;
'Tis plain to all the jovial Throng,
Though hoar the Head, the Heart is young.

ODE LVII. THAT WE SHOULD DRINK WITH MODERATION.

ODE LVIII. THE LOVE-DRAUGHT.

As late of Flow'rets fresh and fair
I wove a Chaplet for my Hair,
Beneath a Rose, gay Summer's Pride,
The wanton God of Love I spy'd,
I seiz'd him, resolute of Soul,
And plung'd him in my flowing Bowl,
Resolv'd to have a Draught divine,
And fairly swallow'd him in Wine:
E'er since his fluttering Wings impart
Strange Titillations to my Heart.

ODE LIX. TO A SCORNFUL BEAUTY.

Why thus with scornful Look you fly,
Wild Thracian Filly, tell me why?
Think'st thou that I no Skill possess,
And want both Courage and Address?
Know, that whenever I think fit
To tame thee with the galling Bit,
Just where I please, with tighten'd Rein,
I'll urge thee round the dusty Plain.
Now on the flowery Turf you feed,
Or lightly bound along the Mead,
So wild, so wanton, and untry'd,
You want some Youth to mount and ride.

ODE LX. EPITHALAMIUM ON THE MARRIAGE OF STRATOCLES AND MYRILLA.

ODE LXI. ON GOLD.

ODE LXII. ON THE SPRING.

What bright Joy can this exceed,
This of roving o'er the Mead?
Where the Hand of Flora pours,
Sweetest, voluntary Flow'rs:
Where the Zephyr's balmy Gale
Wantons in the lovely Vale.
O! how pleasing to recline
Underneath the spreading Vine,
In the close Concealment laid
With a love-inspiring Maid!
Fair, and sweet, and young, and gay,
Chatting all the live-long day.

ODE LXIII. TO CUPID.

Mighty God of Flames and Darts,
Great Controuler of all Hearts;
With thee Venus, lovely Fair,
Venus with the golden Hair,
And the bright-ey'd Dryads play,
Nymphs that on the Mountains stray:
Come, propitious to my Vow,
Leave the Mountain's rugged Brow;
Quick descend into the Plain,
Where the Object of my Pain,
Sweet Eurypyle imparts
Anxious Hopes to youthful Hearts;
Melt to Love the yielding Fair,
Teach her not to give Despair;
Thou my Passion must approve,
Melt the yielding Fair to Love.

ODE LXIV. TO CUPID.

Idalian God, with golden Hair,
O Cupid, ever young and fair,
Fly to my Aid, and safely shroud
Me in a purple-beaming Cloud,
And on thy painted Wings convey
A faithful Lover on his Way.
Thy Blandishments disturb my Rest,
And kindle Tumults in my Breast;
The pleasing poison was convey'd
Late from the lovely Lesbian Maid;
Her sun-bright Eye discharg'd a Dart,
That rankling preys upon my Heart:
In sparkling Wit beyond Compare,
She slights, alas! my silver Hair,
Regardless of my heart-felt Pain,
And fondly loves some happier Swain.

ODE LXV. ON HIMSELF.

ODE LXVII. ON LOVE.

To Love I wake the silver String,
And of his soft Dominion sing:
A Wreath of Flowers adorns his Brow,
The sweetest, fairest Flowers that Blow:
All Mortals own his mighty Sway,
And him the Gods above obey.

ODE LXVIII. THE SUPPLICATION.

Queen of the Woodland Chace, whose Darts
Unerring pierce the Mountain-harts,
Diana chaste, Jove's Daughter fair,
Suppliant to thee I breathe my Prayer.
Descend, propitious to my Vow,
To where the Streams of Lethe flow:
In Pity aid a hapless Race,
Bright Goddess of the Woodland Chace;
With holy Awe they own thy Sway,
And meek in Reverence obey.

ODE LXIX. ARTEMON.

A Fragment.

Now Artemon, a favourite Name,
Inspires Eurypyle with Flame:
An Upstart of ignoble Blood,
Who plodded late in Shoes of Wood;
And round his Waist, instead of Vest,
Wore a Cow's stinking Hide undrest,
Which might, on fit Occasion, yield.
Rank Covering for a rotten Shield.
This Wretch, with other Wretches vile,
Liv'd hard by Drudgery and Toil;
Oft sentenc'd cruel Pains to feel
At Whipping-post, or Racking-wheel:
But now, conspicuous from afar,
He rides triumphant in his Car;
With golden Pendants in his Ears,
Aloft the silken Reins he bears,
Proud, and effeminately gay:
His Slaves an Ivory Skreen display,
To guard him from the Solar Ray.

ODE LXX. TO HIS BOY.

Boy, while here I sit supine,
Bring me Water, bring me Wine;
Bring me, to adorn my Brow,
Wreaths of Flowers that sweetly blow:
Love invites—O! let me prove
The Joys of Wine, the Sweets of Love.