The loves of hero and leander :: :: University of Virginia Library

The sons of Atreus now I'll sing!
Lo! now I'll sing the sons of Jove!
In vain I strike the trembling string;
My lyre will nothing sound, but love.

But, late I chang'd the warbling wire;
Resolv'd to sing some loftier strain;
Such as the brave and great inspire:
Alas! I chang'd the wire in vain!

In vain resolv'd! for still I found,
But love, my lyre would nothing sound.

Hence, fare ye well! ye great and brave!
Ye sons of Atreus and of Jove!
Hence, fare ye well! to love a slave,
My lyre shall nothing sound, but love!

Agamemnon and Menelaus.

Hercules and Cadmus.

ODE II. Upon Woman.

Nature gives all creatures arms,
Faithful guards from hostile harms!
Jaws, the lyon to defend;
Horrid jaws, that wide distend!
Horns, the bull; resistless force!
Solid hoofs, the gen'rous horse;
Nimble feet, the fearful hare;
Wings, the bird, to sail in air;
Fins, the fish, thro' sea to roll;
Man, the virtues of the soul.

Thus she lavish'd all her store—
What for woman had she more?
Beauty to her share did fall;
Beauty! the best guard of all!

She that's beauteous, need not fear
Sword or flame, or shield or spear;
Beauty better aid affords,
Better far, than flames or swords!
Better far, than spears or shields!
Ev'ry pow'r to beauty yields.

ODE III. Upon Cupid.

As it happen'd on a night,
Full of rain! and void of light!
Dismal darkness! (When, on high,
Ev'ry star had left the sky;
And below, by sleep opprest,
Ev'ry mortal gone to rest!)
Love stood knocking at my door;
Love! to me unknown before.

‘Whence, and who, so late at night;
(Words half-utter'd with affright)
‘Dares, said I, such knocking keep?
‘Dares, disturb my downy sleep?—
“Little cause have you to fear,
“Whence we come, or who we are:

(Love, with subtlety, replies)
“Only, pr'y-thee, stranger, rise;

“And some gentle care employ,
“On a little harmless boy:
“Drowning, wand'ring all the night,
“Full of rain! and void of light!

Mov'd at what the urchin said;
Easy fool! I rose from bed;
Lit a lamp, and op'd the door;
Where, indeed, a boy I spy'd;
Wings, who on his shoulders wore,
Bow and quiver by his side.
Ent'ring, I no more inquire;
But kindly place him by the fire,
His little hands, (so chill with cold)
In mine to warm, I fondly hold.
His little hairs, (so wet with rain)
I gently wring and dry again.
When straight reviving by my cares,
When warm'd his hands, and dry'd his hairs:
‘Friend, said he, I fain wou'd know,
‘How fares my dart? how fares my bow?
‘If proof against the wet or no?—
‘Friend! how fares my dart and bow!
He bent his bow, he fix'd his dart,
And shot it full into my heart;
Full! as the fiery serpent stings,
Then slily smiling, out he springs;
‘And now (said he) my friend, I know,
‘Safe is my dart; safe is my bow.
‘Happy for thee, cou'd'st thou but say
‘Thy heart were half as safe, as they.

ODE IV. Upon Revel.

On softest beds at leisure laid,
Beds of Lote, and Myrtle made!
While the easy hours I spend,
Love! my festal shall attend,
Love! his robe behind him bound,
Love! shall serve my goblet round!
Swift, in this terrestrial strife,
Turns the rapid wheel of life.
Swift, as speeding from the bar,
Turns her wheel the rapid car.

Soon, my friends, to cruel death,
I, alas! must yield my breath.
Soon dissolve (too soon I must)
Turn'd to undistinguish'd dust.

Do not then, when I am dead,
Flow'rs, or wines, or odours shed,
Fruitless love! superfluous care!
Spare me then what I can spare.
Rather, in these present hours,
Bring your odours, wines, and flow'rs.

Now, o Cupid, bind my hair!
Summon, now, the tender fair;
That before I'm doom'd to go
To the shades, that sport below,
I may taste with those that live,
All the sports, that life can give.

ODE V. Upon the same Subject [Upon Revel].

Say, what flow'r do you design
Grateful to the god of wine?
Say, what flow'r, but that, can prove
Grateful to the god of love?
Come then, friends, with roses crown'd,
Come, and put the goblet round:
Thus we'll laugh, and thus we'll play,
Drink and revel all the day.

Of each lovely flow'r that grows,
The most lovely is the rose.
Lovely rose! the spring's delight,
Nothing shewing half so bright!
Lovely rose! of gods the care,
Nothing seeing half so fair.
Love himself, when he resorts
Where the band of graces sports,

And to join the dance prepares,
Binds with this his golden hairs.

Crown me then; and with the lyre
Sweetly breathing soft desire;
And the fair, provoking love;
Straight to Bacchus' fane remove!
There we'll laugh, and there we'll play,
Drink and revel all the day.

ODE VII. Upon Cupid.

Love met me lately all alone,
And bad me, in a threat'ning tone;
‘Away, Anacreon, let us try,
‘Who can run faster, you or I.’
Tho' nought, that day, his dang'rous hand
Arm'd but an Hyacinthian wand,
Yet to dispute his pow'r afraid,
Love with reluctance I obey'd.
So thro' the streams and o'er the vales,
And up the hills, and down the dales,
We ran. When from a woody brake
Out sprang a fiery-venom'd snake;

And stung me (as I thought) to death:
For strait my soul, in deadly fright,
As with her last-expiring breath,
Flut'ring up-rose to take her flight.
Cupid, un-hop'd-for succour brings;
And gently fans me with his wings,
And mildly warns: “Thus caution'd, prove,
“Hence-forth, more tractable to love!

ODE IX. Upon the Carrier-Dove.

Tell me, pray, my pretty dove!
Tell me, lovely scout of love!
Whence, and whither, dost thou fly,
Sweets-distilling, thro' the sky?
Whence, and whither, do'st thou go?
Tell me, for I fain wou'd know.

Stranger, if thou fain wou'dst know,
I to fair Bathyllus go;
Charming boy! whose haughty sway
All implicity obey.
To Anacreon I belong,
Giv'n by Venus for a song.

Hence I serve, a faithful dove,
All his embassies of love.
Who for this, that here you see,
Gave his word to set me free.

But what joy can that afford?
(Shou'd Anacreon keep his word!)
Here and there to roam at will,
Over mead, or over hill?
Or to perch in lonely wood!
Trusting chance for rustick food?
When I now am daily fed,
With my master's purest bread;
Daily in his goblet join,
(Heav'nly draught!) of purest wine.
Feeding now, perhaps, I stand,
Gently-cooing, on his hand.
Drinking now my wings I spread,
Fondly-flutring, o'er his head;
Or, with downy sleep possest,
On his lyre repose to rest;

Now thou dost my business know,
Where I come, and whither go,
Curious stranger, speed thy way!
Thou'st made me prate like any jay.

The Letter.

ODE XIV. Upon Cupid.

Victor-love! I yield, I yield,
Thou hast fairly won the field,
Thou, who oft hast vainly strove
To persuade me (victor-love!)
By the softest terms to yield,
Thou, by force hast won the field.

To the battle love did go,
With his quiver and his bow.
I my jav'lin, I my shield,
Like a new Achilles weild.
Furious, love begins the fight,
Which I ward by subtle flight;
Love pursues with might and main,
Shooting all his darts in vain;
But, at length, in want of dart,
Shoots himself into my heart,
Yet insensible of flame;
And dissolves my vital frame.
Now my jav'lin, now my shield,
All in vain, in vain I weild:
Arms without must surely fail,
When the foes within prevail.

ODE XVI. Upon Himself.

The wars of Thebes your muse employ;
His muse the deathless wars of Troy;
Wars of my own employ my muse,
Wars! where I no mercy meet!
Wars where my destroyers use,
Neither horse, nor foot, nor fleet!
Nor any arms to gain their prize!
Not any arms, but those of eyes.

ODE XX. To his Mistress.

Transform'd to stone thy daughter stands,
Dread Tantalus! on Phrygian lands:
And thine a bird, Pandion, flies
On sable pinions thro' the skies.

Wou'd heav'n on me bestow the grace,
O ever-lovely to behold!
The glass I'd be, that views thy face;
The vestments, that thy waist infold.
The streams, in which thy body swims;
The unguents, that anoint thy limbs;
The golden bands, thy breast that deck;
The pearly chains, that clasp thy neck;
Thy very sandals I would be,
Tho' trod to earth; so trod by thee.

Niobe.

Progne.

Swallow,

ODE XXII. To Bathyllus.

Come, Bathyllus, to this shade
By close-mingling branches made.
Branches sweet! Whose tender hair
Sport with ev'ry breath of air.
Nourish'd by fresh streams below
Softly murm'ring as they flow.
Who, by folly not betray'd,
Who wou'd fly so sweet a shade?

απαλας χ[]ιτας.

ODE XXIII. Upon Gold.

Hoard up gold?—Had gold the pow'r
To with-hold the fatal hour:
Cou'd it that sad hour with-hold,
Gold I'd hoard, vast sums of gold,
That when death on me should call,
Death the certain doom of all!
I might (day succeeding day)
Purchase still a new delay.
But since death has not the pow'r
To with-hold the fatal hour,
Why shou'd I in fears and pains
Spend what yet of life remains?
Life! whose length alone appears,
Truly worth my pains and fears.
No!—to please my mirthful soul,
Give me the full-flowing bowl;
Give me with some faithful friend
What of life remains, to spend.
Or on beds of softness laid
With some kind-complying maid;
Joys, more heav'nly yet, to prove,
True to thy rites, fair queen of love.

ODE XXX. Upon Cupid.

Run-way love the muses finding,
And in flow'ry fetters binding,
Straight their little captiv'd slave
To the charge of beauty gave.

Venus hearing love was caught,
Mighty gifts of ransom brought;
To redeem him from his chain,
Mighty gifts she brought in vain.

Cupid of his own free-will,
Proffer'd liberty refuses,
Chusing to live captive still,
Slave of beauty and the muses.

ODE XXXIII. To the Swallow.

Here, gentle swallow! social guest!
Duly each year you build your nest,
In which all summer you remain;
But winter come, depart again;
And, fled to warmer climes the while,
Lodge or near Memphis or the Nile.

Sweet bird! how happy shou'd I be,
Would love but come and go like thee!
Who in my heart, a constant guest,
Builds all the year, nor quits his nest,

Some in the shell imprison'd lie,
Some newly-fledg'd begin to fly;
Some half-disclos'd, in doubtful strife,
Press, yet un-finish'd, into life.
My breast with endless noise is torn,
Of craving loves incessant-born.
The full-grown bird with tender food
Careful supplies the callow-brood;
And soon the callow-brood full-grown,
Supplies another of her own.

A proper rem'dy who can tell?
So many loves within me dwell;
No tongue their number can declare;
No heart, alas, their burthen bear.

ODE XXXIV. To his Young Mistress.

Wanton, in the bloom of years;
Poor Anacreon you despise;
Little grace his snow-white hairs
Gain him, fair-one, in your eyes.

Let not that affect your mind:
Half so well no mixture shews,
In the wreaths our temples bind,
As when the lilly joins the rose.

ODE XXXV. Upon the Picture of Jupiter and Europa.

Sure that bull we see is Jove,
To that shape transform'd by love!
Doom'd on his broad back to bear,
Thro' the sea, the Tyrian fair;
And with his large hoof divide,
Foaming-round, the troubled tide.
None but he, of all the herd,
None but he, had ever dar'd,
Thro' that boundless tract to rove,
Sure it can be none but Jove.

ODE XXXVI. Upon Life.

Teach me not your arts and rules;
Empty words of bab'ling schools!
What of good to me imparts,
Your vain talk of rules and arts?

Teach me rather to refine,
In the pleasing rules of wine!
Teach me rather to improve,
In the golden arts of love.

Quick, e'er hasty life take wing,
Wine refresh'd with water bring:
Bring the heav'nly mixture, boy!
Grudge me not the short-liv'd joy!
Destin'd soon to yield my breath,
There's no drinking after death!

ODE XL. Upon Cupid.

Wanton Cupid, as at play
On a bank of flow'rs he lay,
By a little bee was stung,
That about his fingers clung.
Straight to Venus running, flying,
Raving sometimes, sometimes crying.
‘Help, ah! mother, help your son,
‘Help (he cry'd) or I'm undone.
‘Look how that audacious thing,
‘Has transpierc'd me with his sting.

‘Thing, I know not what to call:
‘Winged thing, as fierce as small.
‘Winged serpent, let me see—
‘That the rusticks name a bee.

Venus smiling on her son,
Boy, (she said) if thou'rt undone
By so very small a thing,
By so very slight a sting,
What must be the lover's smart,
When thy arrows pierce his heart?

ODE XLV. Upon Cupid's Arrows.

As the god of manual arts
Wrought at Lemnos, forging darts,
Darts! the cause of am'rous woe!
Darts of steel for Cupid's bow!
Love, in honey, dipt them all;
But her wanton son in gall.

Hither, freed from war-alarms,
Hither came, by fatal chance,
Mars, the mighty god of arms,
With his long-portended lance.

Cupid's darts, with scornful eyes
Viewing, haughtily he cries:
‘This is slight, and that's a toy.
‘Those, perhaps, replies the boy.
‘But if I divine aright—
‘Take it—This is not so slight.
Mars receives it—Venus smiles
At her son's well-season'd wiles.

Mars, with sudden pain possest,
Sighing from his inmost breast,
‘Cupid! thou divine'st aright!
‘This, says he, is not so slight,
‘Take it—No! returns the boy,
‘Keep it, Mars—'tis but a toy.

Vulcan.

Venus.

ODE LXII. An Epithalamium, on the Marriage of Stratocles.

You, the fairest child of Jove,
Venus! powerful queen of love!
Cupid! god of pleasing strife!
Hymen! guard of happy life!
You I call. Propitious prove,
Hymen! Cupid! queen of love!

Rise! too sleepy boy, arise!
Rise! and seize the lovely prize!
E'er the tim'rous thing take flight,
Shameful of intruding light.
Rise! o boy, by Venus blest!
Rise! and take her to thy breast!
Clasp the fair-one in thy arms.
Fair-one! full of bloomy charms.

Lively as in genial bow'rs,
Shines the rose, the queen of flow'rs!
Lively thy Myrtilla shows,
Mixt with maids, of maids the rose!

Now, that Phœbus from the sky
Views thee, boy, with envious eye.
Rise! and feast thy ravish'd sight!
Rise! and take the soft delight!—
So may they their influence shed,
On the fruitful marriage-bed;
So may they propitious prove;
Hymen! Cupid! queen of love!