m:elodies. Satioital %m, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, THE ODES OF ANACREON. BY THCMAS MOORE, ESQ. BOSTON: CROSBY AXD AINSWORTH. 1865. C0NTRNT8. Odes of Anacbeon. Odei., 233 Odeii 234 Ode iii., 23o Odeiv. 235 Ode v., 236 Odevi 237 Odevii., 238 Odeviii., 239 Odeix., .^ 240 Odex., 241 Odexi 241 Odexii 242 Odexiii., 243 Ode xiv., 244 Ode XV. 246 Odexvi., 247 Odexvii 249 Odexviii., 251 Odexix., 252 Ode XX., 253 B CONTENTS. P»g« Odexxi 25S OdexxU 254 Ode xxiii., 255 Odexxiv 256 Ode XXV., 257 Odexxvi., 258 Odexxvii., 259 Odexxviii., 259 Odexxix., 260 Ode XXX., 261 Odexxxi 262 Ode xxxii., 263 Ode xxxiii. , 264 Ode xxxiv., 266 Ode XXXV., 267 Ode xxxvi., 268 Ode xxxvii., 269 Ode xxxviii., 270 Ode xxxix 271 Odexl., 272 Odexli. • 272 Odexlii., 273 OdexUii., 274 Odexliv., 275 Odexlv., 276 Odexlvi., 277 Odexlvii., 278 Odexlviii., 279 Odexlix., 280 Odel 280 iBisH Melodies. Go where Glory waits thee, •• .•• 286 Erin ! the Tear and the Smile in thine Eyes, 286 The Harp that once through Tara's Halls, 287 War Song - 288 Oh! breathe not his Name, 289 Rich and rare were the Gems she wore t .289 contents. 7 ph». ds a Beam o'er the Face of the Waters may glow, 290 Take back the Virgin Page, ..291 Let Erin remember the Days of Old, 292 Eveleen's Bower, 293 Love's Young Dream, 294 Erin, oh Erin, 295 I 'd mourn the"Hopes, 296 Oh the Shamrock 297 Farewell ! — but whenever you welcome the Hour, 299 'T is the last Rose of Summer, 300 Has Sorrow thy young Days shaded 301 The Minstrel Boy, 302 Oh ! had we some bright little Isle of our ow n, 303 Fill the Bumper fair, 304 As slow our Ship, 306 I saw from the Beach, 307 In the Morning of Life, ZOi Where is the Slave, 30J Wreath the Bowl, 3H Before the Battle, 312 After the Battle, 313 One Bumper at parting, 314 While gazing on the Moon's Light 315 Come o'er the Sea, 316 Come, rest in this Bosom, 317 Whene'er I see those smiling Eyes 318 On Music, 319 She sung of Love 320 Alone in Crowds to wander on, 321 They know not my Heart, 322 Echo, 322 Tho' the last Glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, 323 As vanquish'd Erin, 324 Weep on, weep on, 325 Dear Harp of my Country, 326 The Mountain Sprite, 326 Lay his Sword by his Side, 328 Oh, could we do with this World of ours, 329 Forget not the Field, ^...338 B CONTENTS. If thou 'It be mine, 331 Bail on, sail on, 332 The meeting of the Waters 333 She is far from the- Land 333 No, not more welcome, 334 Drink to her, 336 The Fortune-Telia' 330 National Aies. A Temple to Friendship, 341 All that 's Bright must fade, 342 Reason, Folly, and Beauty, 343 Those Evening Bells, 344 There comes a Time, 345 Love and Hope, 846 The Crystal-Hunters, 347 Fare thee well, thou lovely One 349 Gayly sounds the Castanet, 350 Oft, in the stilly Night, 351 Peace be around thee, 352 Row gently here, 353 My Harp has one unchanging Theme 354 Come, chase that starting Tear away, 355 Who '11 buy my Love-Knots ? 356 Bright be thy Dreams 357 Like one who, doom'd, 358 Though 'tis all but a Dream, 359 Joys of Youth, now fleeting, 360 Love is a Hunter-Boy, 361 Flow on, thou shining River, 362 Go, then — 'tis vain, 363 Where shall we bury our Shame ? 364 Take hence the Bowl, 365 Hark ! the Vesper Hymn is stealing, 366 When through the Piazetta, 367 When abroad in the World, 368 When Love is kind, 369 Keep those E;~es still purely mine, 370 Hear me but Once, • 370 Thou lov'st no More 371 Here sleeps the Bard, 372 Do not say that Life is waning, 372 If in loving singing, 373 Miscellaneous Poems. Lines written on leaving Philadelphia, 377 A Canadian Boat Song, 378 To the Fire-Fly, 379 The Steersman's Song, 380 Written on passing Deadman's Island, 381 The Torch of Liberty, 382 This World is all a fleeting Show, 384 Oh, teach me to love thee, 385 Weep not for those, 386 A Ballad. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp, 387 Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods, 389 Lines written at the Cohos, or Falls of the Mohawk River, 391 The Turf shall be my fragrant Shrine, 392 Youth and Age, 393 The dying Warrior, 394 Merrily every Bosom boundeth, 396 The Magic Mirror 397 The Fancy Fair, 398 Her last Words at parting 400 Ballad Stanzas, 401 Sale of Cupid, ". 402 Come, ye Disconsolate, 403 The meeting of the Ships, 403 The Exile 404 As down in the sunless Retreats, 405 Rose of the Desert 405 Sound the l)ud Timbrel, 406 Long Years have pass'd 407 Tell her, oh, tell her, • 408 Oh, call it by some better Name, 401 lO CONTENTS. Fancy, ,409 To the Flying Fish 410 The Day-Dream, 411 Boat Glee 413 Song, 414 Come, play me that simple Air again, ^ 415 Song, ,.. 416 Sovereign Woman, 417 At Night 419 Rondeau, . ..fif ODES OF ANACREON. ODE 1. I SAW the smiling bard of pleasure, The minstrel of the Teian measure T was in a vision of the night, He beam'd upon my wondering sight I heard his voice, and warmly press*© The dear enthusiast to my breast His tresses wore a s jvery \^ i But Beauty sparkled in his eye ; Sparkled in his eyes of fire. Through the mist of soft desire. His lip exhaled, whene'er he sigh'd, The fragrance of the racy tide ; And, as with weak and reeling feet He came my cordial kiss to meet. An infant, of the Cyprian band, Guided him on with tender hand. Quick from his glowing brows he drew His braid, of many a wanton hue ; I took the wreath, whose inmost twine Breathed of him and blush'd with wine, I hung it o'er my thoughtless brow, And ah ! I feel its magic now : I feel that even his garland's touch Can make the bosom love too much ODE II. Gn E mf the harp of epic song, Which Homer's finger thrill'd along ; But tear away the sanguine string, For war is not the theme I sing. Proclaim the laws of festal rite, I 'm monarch of the board to-night And all around shall brim as high, And quafi" the tide as deep as I. And when the cluster's mellowing dews Their warm enchanting balm infuse, Our feet shall catch th' elastic bound And ree. us through the dance's round. Great Bacchus ! we shall sing to thee. In wild bui sweet ebriety ; Flashmg around such sparks of thought As Bacchus could alone have taught Then, give the harp of epic song. Which Homer's finger thrill'd along ; But tear away the panguine string. For war is not the Ui^noo I aing 235 ODE III. Listen to the Muse's l3rrB, Master of the pencil's fire ! Sketch'd in painting's bold dispute Many a city first portray ; Many a city, revelling free, Full of loose festivity. Picture then a rosy train, . Bacchants straying o'er tlie plain , Piping, as they roam along, Roundelay or shepherd-song. Paint me next, if painting mav Such a theme as this portray, All the earth'v heaven of love These delighted mortals prove. OOE «V Vulcan ! hear your glorious task I do not from your labors ask In gorgeous panoply to shine, For war was ne'er a sport of mine No — let me have a silver bowl, Where I may cradle all my soul ; 836 OUES OF A\AjREOn. But mind that, o'er its simple frame No mimic constellations flame ; Nor grave upon the swelling side Orion, scowling o'er the tide. I care not for the glitt'ring wain, Nor yet the weeping sister train. But let the vine luxuriant roll Its flushing tendrils round the bowl, While many a rose-lipp'd bacchant maid Is cullmg clusters in their shade Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes, Wildly press the gushing grapes, And flights of Loves, in wanton play, , Wing through the air their winding way i While Venus from her harbor green, Looks laughing at the joyous scene, And young Lyaeus by her side Sits, wortliy of so bright a bride. ODE V. ScuLPTOR,*wouldst thou giau my soul Grave for me an ample bowl, Worthy to shine in hall oi bower. When spring-time brings the reveller's hoiK Grave it with themes of chaste design. Fit for a simple board like mine. Display not there the barbarous rites ?n which religious zeal delights (»DE9 OK .n\(;reon. 237 Nor any talc of tragic fate Which History shudders to re.ate. No —cull thy fancies from above, Themes of heav'n and themes of love. Let Bacchus, Jove's ambrosial boy,~ Distil the grape in drops of joy. And while he smiles at every tear, Let warm-eyed Venus, dancing near. With spirits of tlie genial bed, The dewy herbage deftly tread. Let Love be there, without his arms, In timid nakedness of charms ; And all the Graces, link'd witli Love. Stray, laughing, through the shadowy grove While rosy boys disporting roiinu. In circlets trip the velvet ground But ah ! if there Apollo toys, I tremble for the rosy boys ODE VL As late I sought the spangleti D«. >vei«, To cull a wreath of matin flowers. Where many an early rose was weeping, I found the urchin Cupid sleeping. I caught the boy, a goblet's tide Was richly mantling by my side, I caught him by his downy wing, And whelm'd him in the racy spring 238 ODES OF ANACREON. Then drank I down the poison'd bowl And Love now nestles in my souL Oh yes, my soul is Cupid's nest, I feel him flutterinsr in my breast ODE VIL The women tell me every day That all my bloom has pass'd away " Behold," the pretty wantons cry, " Behold this mirror with a sigh ; The locks upon tiiy brow are few. And, like the rest, they 're withering wa Whether decline has thinn'd my hair, I 'm sure I neither know nor care ; But this I know, and this I feel. As onward to the tomb I steal, That still as death approaches neaier. The joys of life are sweeter, dearer , And had I but aji \t lur.ta live. That little hour to biiss 1 'd give I CLKF. not for the idle siate Of Persia's king, tne rich, the great 1 envv not the monarch's tlirone, Nor wish the treasured gold my own But oh ! be mine the rosy wreath, Its freshness o'er my brow to breatlie ; Be mine the ricii perfumes that flow, To cool and scent my locks of snow. To-day I '11 haste to quaff my wine, As if to-morrow ne'er would shine ; But if to-morrow comes, why then I '11 haste to quaff my wine again. And thus while all our days are bright. Nor time has dimm'd their bloomy light, Let us the festal hours beguile With mantling cup and cordial smile ; And shed from each new bowl of wine The richest drop on Bacchus' shrine. For Death may come, with brow unpleasant, May come, when least we wish him preeent. And beckon to the saDle shore. And grimly bid us — drink no more i4C ODE IX, I PRAT thee, by the gods above. Give me the mighty bowl I love, And let me sing, in wild delight, ' I will — I will be mad- to-night ! ** Alcmaeon once, as legends tell, Was frenzied by the fiends of hell ; Orestes too, with naked tread, Frantic paced the mountain-head ; And why ? a murder'd mother's shade Haunted them still where'er they stray ■? But ne'er could I a murderer be, The grape alone shall bleed by me , Yet can I shout, witli wild delignt, « I will — I will be mad to-night ! " Alcides' self, in days of yore, In brued his hands in youthful gore. And brandish'd, with a maniac _'oy, The quiver of th' expiring boy : And Ajax, with tremendous shield, Infuriate scour'd the guiltless field. But I, whose hands no weapon ask, No armor but this joyous flask ; The trophy of whose frantic hours Is but 8 scatter'd wreath of flowers, Ev'n 1 can sing with wild delight, ^ I will — I will be mad to-night ! " •M] ODE X. How am I to punish thee, For the wrong thou 'st done to n» Silly swallow, prating thing — Shall I clip tliat wheeling wing ? Or, as Tereus did, of old, (So the fabled tale is told,) Shall I tear that tongue away, Tongue that utter'd such a lay r Ah, how thoughtless hast thou Long before the dawn was sein, When a dream came o'er ray mind. Picturing her I worship, kind. Just when I was nearly biesc, Loud thy matins broke my rest ! ODE XL " Tell me, gentle youth, I pray theft What in purchase shall I pay thee For this little waxen toy, Image of the Paphian boy ? " Thus I said, the other day, To a youth who pass'd my way < 842 ODES O* aNACREOW. " Sir," (lie answer'd, and the while Ansvver'd all in Doric style,) " Take it, for a trifle take it ; 'T was not I who dared to make u , ' No, believe me, 't was not I ; Oh, it has cost me many a sigh. And I can no longer keep Little gods, who murder sleep ! " " Here, then, here," (I said with joy,} " Here is silver for tlie boy : He shall be my bosom guest, Idol of my pious breast ! " Now, young Love, I have thee mine, Warm me with that torch of thine ; Make me feel as 1 have felt, Or thy waxen frame shall melt : I must burn with warm desire, Or thou, my boy — in yonder fire ODE XII They tell how Atys, wild with love, Roams the mount and haunted grove 5 Cybele's name l)e howls around, The gloomy. blast returns the sound! Oft too. by Claros' haunted spring, The votaries of tlie laurell'd king Quaff the inspiring, magic stream, Aai rave in wild, prophetic dream. UUEH OF ANACREON. 94i But frenzied dreams are not for me Great Bacchus is my deity ! Full of mirth and full of him, While floating odors round me swim, While mantling bowls are full supplied And you sit blushing by my side, I will be mad and raving too — Mad, my girl, with love for you ! ODE XIII. I WILL, I will, the conflict 's past. And 1 11 consent to love at last. Cupid has long, with smiling art. Invited me to yield my heart ; And I have thought that peace of mind Should not be for a smile resign'd : And so repell'd the tender lure, And hoped my heart would sleep secure. But, slighted- in his boasted chr.nns. The angry infant flew to arms ; He slung his quiver's golden frame. He took his bow, his shafts of flame, And proudly summon'd me to yield. Or meet him on the martial field. And wliat did I unthinking do ? I took to arms, undaunted, too • 244 ODES OF ANACREOPi. Assumed the corslot, shield, and spear, And, like Pelides, siniled at fear. Then (hear it, all ye powers above ! ) I fought with Love ! I fought with Lcve And now his arrows all were shed, And I had just in terror fled — When, heaving an indignant sigh, To see me thus unwounded fly. And, having now no other dart. He shot himself into my heart ! My heart — alas the luckless day ! Received the god, and died away. Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield Thy lord at length is forced to yield. Vain, vain, is every outward care, The foe 's within, and triumphs there. ODE XIV. Count me, or. the summer trees, Every leaf thai courts the breeze , Count me, On the foamy deep. Every wave that sinks to sleep , Then, when you have number'd these Billowy tides and leafy trees. Count me all the flames I prove, All the gentle nymphs I lo^e. First, of pure Athenian maids Spoling in their olive shades. ODES OF ANACREOJS. 243 You may reckon just a score, Nay, I '11 grant you fifteen more. In the famed Corintliian grove, Where such countless wantons rove, Chains of beauties may be found, Chains, by which my heart is bound ; There, indeed, are nymphs divine, Dangerous to a soul like mine. Many bloom in Lesbos' isle ; Many in Ionia smile ; Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast; Caria too contains a host. Sum them all — of brown and fair You may count two thousand there. What, you stare ? I pray you, peace More I '11 find before I cease. Have I told you all my flames, 'Mong the amorous Syrian dames ? Have I number'd every one, Glowing under Egypt's sun ? Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweeSj Deck the shrine of Love in Crete ; Where the God, with festal play, . Holds eternal holiday ? Still in clusters, still remain Gades' warm, desiring train ; Still there lies a myriad more On the sable India's shore ; These, and many far removed, AU are loving — all are loved ai* 246 ODE XV Teli. jie, why, ray sweetest dovej, Thus your humid pinions move, Shedding through the air in showen Essence of the balmiest flowers ? Tell me whither, whence you rove, Tell me all, my sweetest dove Cunous stranger, I belong To the bard of Teian song ; With his mandate now I fly To the nymph of azure eye ; — She, whose eye has madden'd many But the poet more than any. Venus, for a hymn of love. Warbled in her votive grove, ('T was in sooth a gentle lay,) Gave me to the bard away. See me now his faithful minion. — Thus with softly-gliding pinion, To his lovely girl I bear Songs of passion through the air. Oft he blandly whispers me, " Soon, my bird, 1 11 set you free." But in vain he 'U bid me fly, I shall serve him till I die. Never could my plumes sustain Ruffling winds and chilling rain, "~\ ODES OF ANACREON. 347 O'er ti. e plains, or in the dell, On the mountain's savage swell. Seeking in the desert wood Gloomy shelter, rustic food. Now I lead a life of ease, Far from rustic haunts like these. From Anacreon's hand I eat Food delicious, viands sweet ; Flutter o'er his goblet's brim, Sip the foamy wine with him. Then when I have wanton'd round To his lyre's beguiling sound ; Or with gently-moving wings Fann'd the minstrel while he sing* On his harp I sink in slumbers, Dreaming still of dulcet numbers ! rhifl is aU — away — away — You have made me waste the day. HowT 've chatter'd ! prating crow Never yet did chatter so. ODE XVL Thou, whose soft and rosy hues Mimic form and soul infusf; Best of painters, come, portray The lovely maid that 's far away 348 ODES OF ANACREOn. Par away, my soul ! thou art, But I 've thy beauties all by heait. Paint her jetty ringlets playing, Silky locks, like tendrils straying And, if painting hath the skill To make the spicy balm distil, Let every little lock exhale A sigh of perfume on the gait Where her tresses' curly flow- Darkles o'er the brow of snow, Let her forehead beam to light, Burnish'd as the ivory bright. Let her eyebrows smoothly rise In jetty arches o'er her eyes. Each, a crescent gently gliding. Just commingling, just dividing. But, hast thou any sparkles warm, The lightning of her eyes to form / Let them effuse the azure rays That in Minerva's glances blaze^ Mix'd with the liquid light that lie* In Cytherea's languid eyes. O'er her nose and cheek be shed Flushing white and soften'd red ; Mingling tints, as when there glow* In snowy milk the bashful rose. Then her lip, so rich in blisses, Sweet petitioner for Idsses, Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, Mutely courting Love's invasion. Next, beneath the velvet chin. Whose dimple hides a Love within. ODES OF ANACREON. M9 Mould her neck with grace descending, In a heaven of beauty ending ; While countless charms, above, below^ Sport and flutter round its snow. Now let a floating, lucid veil Shadow her form, but not conceal ; A charm may peep, a hue may beam. And leave the rest to Fancy's dream. Enough — 't is she ! 't is all I seek ; It glows, it lives, it soon will speak ! ODE xvn. Am) now with all thy pencil's truth. Portray Bathyllus, lovely youth ! Let his hair, in masses bright,* Fall like floating rays of light ; And there the raven's dye confuse With the golden sunbeam's hues. Let no wreafJi, with artful twine. The flowing of his locks confine ; But leave them loose to every breeze, To take what shape and course they pleasak Beneath the forehead, fa.r as snow. But flush'd with manhood's early glow, And guileless as tlie dews of dawn, Let the majestic brows be drawn, Of ebon hue, enrich'd by gold. Such as dark, shining snakes unfold. 950 ODES OF ANACREON. Mix in his eyes the power alike, With love to win, with awe to strike ; Borrow from Mars his look of ire, From Venus her soft glance of tire ; Blend them in such expression here, That we by turns may hope and fear ! Now from the sunny apple seek The velvet down that spreads his cheek , And there, if art so far can go, Th' ingenious blush of boyhood show. While, for his mouth — but no, — in vain Would words its witching charm explaia Make it the very seat, the throne. That Eloquence would claim her own ; And let the lips, though silent, wear A life-look, as if words were there. Next thou his ivory neck must trace, Moulded with soft but manly grace ; Fair as the neck of Paphia's boy, Where Paphia's arms have hung in joy. Give him the winged Hermes' hand. With which he waves his snaky wand ; Let Bacchus the broad chest supply. And Leda's sons the sinewy thigh ; While, through his whole transparent frame Thou show'st the stirrings of that flame, Which kindles, when the first love-sigh Steals from the heart, unconscious why. But sure thy pencil, though so bright, Is envious of the eye's delight, Or its enamor'd touch would show The shoulder, fair as sunless snow ODES OF ANACREOn. 2Si Which now in veiling shadow lies, Removed from all but Fancy's eyes. Now, for his feet — but hold — forbear — I see the sun-god's portrait there ; Why paint Batliyllus ? when, in truth. There, in that god, thou 'st sketch'd the yoath Enough — let tliis bright form be mine, And send the boy to Samos' shrine ; Phcebus shall then Bathyllus be, Bathyllus then, the deity ! ODE XVIIL Now the star of day is high, Fly, my girls, in pity J9y, Bring me ^ine in brimming uins. Cool my lip, it burns, it burns ! Sunn'd by the meridian fire. Panting, languid, I expire. Give me all those humid flowers, Drop them o'er my brow in showers. Scarce a breathing chaplet now Lives upon my feverish brow ; Every dewy rose I wear Sheds its tears, and withers there, But to you, my burning heart. What can now relief impart ? Can brimming bowl, or flowret's dew Cool the flame that scorches you ? 25S2 ODE XIX Here recline you, gentle maid, Sweet in this embowering shade ; Sweet the young, the modest treec, Ruffled by the kissing breeze ; Sweet the little founts that weep, Lulling soft the mind to sleep ; Hark ! they whisper as they roU, Calm persuasion to the soul ; Tell me, tell me, is not this All a stilly scene of bliss ? Who, my girl, would pass it by ? Surely neither you nor I. ODE XX. Oine day the Muses twined the hand* Of infant Love with flow'ry bands ; And to celestial Beauty gave The captive infant for her slave. His mother comes, with many a toy, To ransom her beloved boy ; His mother sues, but all in vain, — He ne'er will leave his chains again ODES or An«cREON 25SI Even should they take his chains away< The little captive still would stay. " If this," he criea, " a bondage be, Oh, who could wiah for liberty ? " '^^ " ' ODE XXL Observe when mother earth is dry, She drinks the droppings of the sky, And then the dewy cordial gives To ev'ry thirsty plant that lives. The vapors, which at evening weep, Are beverage to the swelling deep ; And when the rosy sun appears, lie drinks the ocean's misty tears. The moon too quaffs her paly stream Of lustre, from the solar beam. Then, hence with all your sober thinking ( Since Natire's holy law is drinking; I '11 make the laws of nature mine, And pledge the universe in wine. 254 ODE XXIf. The Phrygian rock, that braves the eto 10^ Was once a weeping matron's form ; And Progue, hapless, frantic maid, Is now a swallow in the shade. Oh ! that a mirror's form were mine. That I might catch that smile divine ; And like my own fond fancy be, Reflecting thee, and only thee ; Or could I be the robe which holds That graceful form within its folds ; Or, turn'd into a fountain, lave Thy beauties in my circling wave. Would I were perfume for thy hair, To breathe my soul in fragrance there ; Or, better still, the zone, that lies Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs ' Or e'en those envious pearls that show So faintly round that neck of snow — Yes, I would be a happy gem. Like them to hang, to fade like them What more would thy Anacreon be Or, any thing that touches thee ; Nay sandals for those airy feet — E'en to be trod bv them were sweet! ^255 ODE xxm. 1 fiFTEN wish this languid lyre, This warbler of my soul's desire, Could raise the breath of song sublimit To men of fame, in former time. But when the soaring theme I try, Along the chords my numbers die. And whisper, with dissolving tone, " Our sighs are given to love alone ! " Indignant at the feeble lay, f tore the panting chords away, Attuned them to a nobler swell, And struck again the breathing shell ; In all the glow of epic fire, To Hercules I wake the l3n'e. But still its fainting sighs repeat, " The tale of love alone is sweet ! " Then fare thee well, seductive dream, That mad'st me follow Glory's theme 5 For thou my lyre, and thou my heart. Shall never more in spirit part ; And all that one has felt so well The other shall as sweetlv tell 1 Hit) ODE xxnr To all that breattte .ae air of heaven. Some boon of strength has Nature giveiL In forming the majestic bull, She fenced with wreathed horns his skall A hoof of strength she lent the steed, And wing'd the timorous hare with soeed. She gave the Uon fangs of terror,- And o'er the ocean's crystal mirror, Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng To trace their liquid path along ; While for the umbrage of the grove. She plumed the warbling world of lova To man she gave, in that proud hour. The boon of intellectual power. Then, what, oh woman, what, for thee, Was left in Nature's treasury ? She gave thee beauty — mightier far Than all the pomp and power of war. Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power Like woman in her conquering hour. Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee. Smile, and a world is weak before thre ! 257 ODE XXV. OwcE in each revolving year, Gentle bird ! we find tliee here. When Nature wears her summer-veat. Thou com'st to weave thy simple nert But when the chilling winter lowers. Agaiij thou seek'st the genial bow ;n Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, Where sunny hours for ever smile. And thus thy pinion rests and roves, — Alas ! unlike the swarm of Loves, That brood within this hapless breast, And never, never change tlieir nest ! Still every year, and all the year, They fix their fated dwelling here ; And some their infant plumage try, And on a tender winglet fly ; While in the shell, impregn'd with fireSj Still lurk a thousand more desires ; Some from their tiny prisons peeping. And some in formless embryo sleeping. Thus peopled, like the vernal groves, My breast resounds with warbling Loveii One urchin imps the other's feather, Then twin-desires they wing together, And fast as they thus take their flight. Still other urchins soring to light. 522* ODES UF A^ACRBON. But is there then no kindly art, To chase these Cupids from my heart ? Ah, no ! I fear, in sadness fear, They will for e\er nestle here ! ODE XXVL Tht harp may sing of Troy's alarms, Or tell the tale of Theban arms ; With other wars my song shall burn. For other wounds my harp shall mourn. T was not the crested warrior's dart, That drank the current of my heart ; Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed, Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed No — 't was from eyes of liquid blue, A host of quiver'd Cupids flew ; And now my heart all bleeding lies Beneath that army of the eyes ! •25«J ODE XXVIl. We read the flying courser's name Upon his side, in marks of flame ; And, by their turban'd brows alone, The warriors of the East are known. But in the lover's glowing eyes, The inlet to his bosom lies ; Through them we see the small faint mark. Where Love has dropp'd his burning spark. ODE XXVIII. \a, by his Lepinian forge's flame, The husband of the Paphian dame Moulded the glowing steel, to form Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm ; And Venus, as he plied nis an. Shed honey round eacn new-made dart. While Love, at hand, to finish all, Tipp'd every arrow's point with gall ; It chanced the Lord of Battles came To visit that deep cave of flame. T was from the ranks of war he rush'd His spear with many a life-drop blush' J ; 3G0 ODE3 OF AWACREOn. He saw the fiery darts, and smiled Contemptuous at the archer-child. '' What ! " said the urchin, " dost thou smile ? Here, hold this little dart awhile, And tliou wilt find, though swift of flight, My bolts are not so feathery light" Mars took the shaft — and, oh, thy look Sweet Venus, when the sliaft he took ! - Sighing, he felt the urchin's art, And cried, in agony of heart, " It is not light — I sink with pain I Take — take thy arrow back again." " No," said tlie child, " it must not be ; That little dart was made for thee ! " ODE XXIX. Yes — loving is a painful thrill. And not to love more painful still ; But oh, it is tlie worst of pain. To love and not be loved again ! Affection now has fled from earth, Nor fire of genius, noble birth, Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile From beauty's cheek one favormg smile Gold is the woman's only theme, GoJd is the woman's only dream. ODES OF AIVACREOM. 261 Oh ! never be that wretch fbrgiven — Forgive him not, indignant heaven ! Whose grovelling eyes could first adore, Whose heart could pant for sordid ore. Since that devoted thirst began, Man has forgot to feel for man ; The pulse of social life is dead, And ay its tender feelings fled ! War too has sullied Nature's charma, For goiJ provokes the world to arniM • And oh ! the worst of all its arts, It rends asunder loving hearts. ODE XXX. T WAS in a mocking dream of night » I fancied I had wings as light As a young bird's, and flew as fleet ; While Love, around whose beauteous feet, I knew not why, hung chains of lead. Pursued me, as I trembling fled • And, strange to say, as swift as thought, Spite of my pinions, I was caught ! What does the wanton Fancy mean By such a strange, illusive sceiie ? I fear she whispers to my breast, That you, sweet maid, have stern its rest 962 ODES OP AITACREOK. That though my fancy, for a while, Hath hung on many a woman's smile, ^ I soon dissolved each passing vow, And ne'er was caught by love till oov ODE XXXL Arm'd with hyacinthine rod, (Arms enough for such a god,) Cupid bade me wing my pace. And try with him the rapid race. O'er many a torrent, wild and deep, By tangled brake and pendent steep, With weary foot I panting flew, Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew. And n3w my soul, exhausted, dying, To my lip was faintly flying ; And now I thought the spark had fled. When Cupid hover'd o'er my head, And fanning light his breezy pinion. Rescued my soul from death's dominion Then said, in accents half-reproving, " Why hast thou been a foe to loving .' " 'iVi ODE XXXII. STRE>y me a fragrant bed of leaves, Where lotus with the myrtle weavea And while in luxury's dream I sink, Let me the balm of Bacchus drink ! In this sweRt hour of revelry Voung Love shall my attendant be — Dress'd for the task, with tunic rouno His snowy neck and shoulders bound, Himself shall hover by my side, And minister the racy tide ! Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll, Our life is hurrying to the goal . A scanty dust, to feed the wind, Is all the trace 't will leave behind. Then wherefore waste tlie rose's bloom Upon the cold, insensate tomb ? Can flowery breeze, or odor's breath. Affect the still, cold sense of death ? Oh no ; I ask no balm to steep With fragrant tears my bed of sleep : But now, while every pulse is glowing. Now let me breathe the balsam flowing Now let the rose, with blush of fire. Upon my brow in sweets expire ; And bring the nymph whose eye hath power, To brighten even death's cold hour. 4JM odes of A2tACIlE09. Yes, Cupid ! ere my shade retire, To join the blest elysian choir, With wine, and love, and social cheer ; I '11 make my own elysiura here ! ODE XXXIII. T WAS noon of night, when round the poh The sullen Bear is seen to roll ; And mortals, wearied with the day, Are slumbering all their cares away : An infant, at that dreary hour, Came weeping to my silent bower, And waked me with a piteous prajer, To shield him from the midnight air. " And who art thou," I waking ciy, "That bidd'st my blissful visions fly ?* *' Ah, gentle sire ! " the infant said, " In pity take me to tliy shed ; Nor fear deceit : a lonely child I wander o'er the gloomy wild- Chill drops the rain, and not a ray Illumes *Jie drear and misty way I " I heard the baby's tale of woe , I heard the bitter night-winds blow ; And sighing for his piteous fate, I trimm'd my lamp and oped the gata ODES OF ^r^iCREon. 2Gi T was Love ! the little wand'ring Bprite, His pinion sparkled through the night. I knew him by his bow and dart ; I knew him by my fluttering, heart. Fondly I take him in, and raise The dying embers' cheering blaze ; Press from his dank and clinging half The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and bosom hold His little fingers thrilling cold. And now the embers' genial ray Had warm'd his anxious fears away ; " I pray thee," said the wanton child, (My bosom trembled as he smiled,) ' I pray thee let me try my bow. For through the rain I 've wander'd so, That much I fear the midnight shower Has injured its elastic power." The fatal bow the urchin drew ; Swift from the string the arrow flew As swiftly flew as glancing flame, And to my inmost spirit came ! " Fare thee well ! " I heard him say As laughing wild he wing'd away ; " Fare thee well, for now I know The rain has not relax'd my bow ; It stni C3n send a thrilling dart, As thou shalt own with all thy heart 33 266 ODE XXXI V. Oh thou, of all creation blest, Sweet insect, that delight'st to rest Upon the wUd wood's leafy tops, To drink th3 dew that morning drops, And chirp thy song with such a glee. That happiest kings may envy thee. Whatever decks the velvet field, Whate'er the circling seasons yield, Whatever buds, whatever blows. For thee it buds, for thee it grows. Nor yet art thou tlie peasant's fear, To him tliy friendly notes are dear ; For thou art mild as matin dew ; And still, when summer's flowery hue Begins to paint the bloomy plain. We hear thy sweet prophetic strain ; Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear. And bless the notes and thee revere ! The Muses love thy shrilly tone ; Apollo calls thee all his own ; T was he who gave that voice to tliee, "T is he who tunes thy minstrelsy Unworn by age's dim decline. The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. Melodious insect, child of earth. In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth ; ODES OF ANACREON. 289 Exempt from every weak decay, That withers vulgar frames aw?y ; With not a drop of blood to stain The current of thy purer vein ; So blest an age is pass'd by thee, Thou seem'st — a little deity ! ODE XXXV. Cupid once upon a bed Of roses laid his weary head ; Luckless urchin, not to see Within the leaves a slumbering bee , The bee awaked — with anger wild The bee awaked, and stung the child. Loud and piteous are his cries ; To Venus quick he runs, he flies ; Oh, mother! — I am wounded through -- die with pain — in sooth I do ! Stung by some little angry tiling. Some serpent on a tiny wing — A bee it was — for once, I know I heard a rustic call it ac." Thus he spoks. and she the while Heard him with a sootliing smile ; Then said, " My infant, if so much Thou feel the little wild-bees touch, How must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be, The hapless heart that 's stung by thee ! * 268 ODE XXXVI If hoarded gold possess'd the power • To lengthen life's too fleeting hour, And purchase from the hand of death A little span, a moment's breath, How I would love the precious ore ! And every hour should swell my store , That when Death came, with shadowy pinioi^ To waft me to his black dominion, I might, by bribes, my doom delay, And bid him call some distant day. But, since not all earth's golden store Can buy for us one bright hour more, Why should we vainly mourn our fate. Or sigh at life's uncertain date ? Nor wealth nor grandeur can illume The silent midnight of the tomb. No — give to others hoarded treasures - Mine be tlie brilliant round of pleasures The goblet rich, the board of friends. Whose social oouls the goblet blends And mine, while yet I 've life to live. Those joys that love alone caxi give 269 ODE XXXVII. T WAS night, and many a circling bowl Had deeply warm'd my thirsty soul ; As luU'd in slumber I was laid, Bright visions o'er ray fancy play'd. With maidens, blooming as the dawn, i seem'd to skim the opening lawn ; Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew, We flew, and sported as we flew ! Some ruddy striplings who look'd on — With cheeks, that like the wine-god's shons Saw me chasing, free and wild. These blooming maids, and slyly smiled ; Smiled indeed with wanton glee. Though none could doubt they envied me. And still I flew — and now had caught Z'he panting nymphs, and fondly thought To gather from each rosy lip A kiss that Jove himself might sip — When sudden all iny dreams of joys, Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, All were gone ! — " Alas ! " I said, Sighing for th' illusion fled, "Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore, Oh ! let me dream it o'er and o'er ! " 33* '^0 ODE XXXVIIL LiKr us drain the nectar*d bowl. Let us raise the song of soul To him, the god who loves so weJ The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell , The god who taught the sons of earth To thrid the tangled dance of mirth ; Him, who was nursed with infant Love, And cradled in the Paphian grove ; Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms So oft has fondled in her arms. Oh 't is from him the transport flows. Which sweet intoxication knows ; With him, the brow forgets its gloom, And brilliant graces learn to bloom. Benuld ! — my boys a gobiet bear. Whose sparkling foam lights up the au Where are now the tear, the sigh ? To the winds they fly, they f?y ! Grasp the bowl ; in nectar sinking .' Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking ! Say, can the tears we lend to thought In life's account avail us aught ? Can we discern with all our lore, The path we 've yet to journey o'er ? Alas, alas, in ways so dark, T is only wine can strike a spark ! ODES OF ANACREO-V. 971 Then let 2ie quaif the foamy tide, And through the dance meandering glide ; Let me imbibe the spicy breath Of odors chafed to fragrant death ; Or from the lips of love inhale A more ambrosial, richer gale ! To hearts that court the phantom Care, Let him retire and shroud him there • While we exhaust the nectar'd bowl. And swell the choral song of soul To him, the god who loves so well The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell ODE XXXIX. How I love the festive boy, Tripping through the dance of jo/ How I love the menow sage, Smiling through the veil of age ! And whene'er this man of years In the dance of joy appears, Snowa may o'er his head be tinng, Btit his heart — his heart is you&g. ^Tvi ODE XL. J KHOw that Heaven hath sent me here To run this mortal life's career ; The scenes which I have joumey'd o'sSj Return no more — alas ! no more ; And all the path I 've yet to go, I neither know nor ask to know. Away, then, wizard Care, nor think Thy fetters round this soul to link ; Never can heart that feels with me Descend to be a slave to thee ! And oh ! before the vital thrill Which trembles at my heart, is still, I '11 gather Joy's luxuriant flowers. And gild with bliss my fading hours , Bacchus shall b'd my winter bloora And Vfinua dance me to the tomb. ODE XIJ. Whew Spring adorns the dewy scene. How sweet to walk the velvet green, And hear the west wind's gentle sighs^ As o'er the scented mead it flies ! OIJE9 or ANAf'REON. 278 How sweet to mark the pouting vine, Read/ to buist in tears of wine -: And with some maid, who breathes but lovo, To walk at noontide, through the grove. Or sit in some cool, green recess — Oh, is not tlus true happiness ? ODE XLIL Yes, be the glorious revel mine. Where humor sparkles from the wioc). Around me, let the youthful choir Respond to my enlivening lyre ; And while the red cup foams along, Mingrle in soul as well as song. Th»;n, while I sit, with flow'rets crown'd. To regulate the goblet's round. Let but the nymph, our banquet's pndo. Be seated smiling by my side, And earth has not a gift or power That I would envv in that hour. . Envy ! — oh never let its blight Touch the gay hearts met here to night. Far hence be slander's sidelong wounds. Nor harsh disputes, nor discord's sounds} Disturb a scene, where all should be Attuned to peace and harmony 2^4 ODES OF ANACREON. Come, let us hear the harp's gay note Upon the breeze inspiring float, While round us, kindling into love, Young maidens through the light dance move Thus blest with mirth, and love, and peace, Sure such a life should never cease . ODE XLni. While our rosy fillets shed Freshness o'er each fervid head, With many a cup and many a smile The festal moments we beguile. And while the harp, impassion'd, flings Tuneful raptures from its strings. Some airy nymph, with graceful bound, Keeps measure to the music's sound ; Waving, in her snowy hand, The leafy Bacchanalian wand. Which, as the tripping wanton flies. Trembles all over to her sighs. A youth the while, with loosen'd hair Floating on the listless air. Sings, to the wild harp's tender tone, A tale of woes, alas ! his own ; And oh, the sadness in his sigh, As o'er his lip the- accents die ! Never sure on earth has been Half so bright, so blest a sceno. ODES OF ANACREON. 274 It seems as Love Irimself had come To make this spot his chosen home; And Venus, too, Avith all lier wiles, And Bacchus, sliedding rosy smilea All. all are here, to hail with me The Genius of festivity . ODE XLIV. Buds of roses, virgin flowers, Cull'd from Cupid's balmy bowen, In the bowl of Bacchus steep, Till with crimson drops they weep. Twine the rose, the garland twine. Every leaf distilling wine ; Drink and smile, and learn to think That we were born to smile and drink. Rose, thou art the sweetest flower That ever drank the amber shower ; Rose, thou art the fondest child Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild Even the Gods, who walk the sky, Are amorous of thy scented sigh. Cupid, too, in Paphian shades, His hair with rosy fillet braids, When, with the blushing, sister Graces, The wanton winding dance he traces. Then bring me, showers of roses bring, And shed them o'er me while I sing, Or while, great Bacchus,- lound thy shrine Wreathing my brow with rose and vine. I lead some brigiit nymph tlirough the dai«© 0>mmingling soul with every glance. ODE XLV. Within this gobiet, rich and deep, I cradle all my woes to sleep. Why should we breathe the sigh of ref «" Or pour the unavailing tear ? For death will never heed the sigh, Nor soften at the tearful eye ; And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep, Must all alike be seal'd in sleep. Then let us never vainly stray. In search of thorns, from rvio^flure's W3w • But wisely quaff the rosy wave. Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gs" And in the goblet, rich and deep, Cradle our crying woes to sleeo. 277 ODE XI.TI. Behold, the young, the rosy Spring, Gives to the breeze her scented wing , While virgin Graces, warm with May, Fling roses o'er her dewy way. The murmurihg billows of the deep Have languish'd into silent sleep ; And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave Their plumes in the reflecting wave ; While cranes from hoary winter fly To flutter in a kinder sky. Now the genial star of day Dissolves the murky clouds away ; And cultured field, and winding stream, Are freshly glittering in his beam. Now the earth prolific swells With leafy buds and flowery bella ; Gemming shoots the olive twine. Clusters ripe festoon tlie vine ; All along the branches creepmg, Through the velvet foliage peeping Little infant fruits we see, Nursing into luxwrj, . 94 278 ODE XLVIL T 13 true, my fading years decline, Yet can I quaff the brimming wine, As deep as any stripling fair, Whose cheeks the flush of morning weai , And if, amidst the wanton crew, I 'm call'd to wind the dance's clew, Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand. Not faltering on the Bacchant's wand. But brandishing a rosy flask, The only thyrsus e'er I '11 ask ! Let those, who pant for Glory's charms, Embrace her in the field of arms : While my inglorious, placid soul Breathes not a wish beyond this bowl. Then fill it high, my ruddy slave, And bathe me in its brimming wave. For though my fading years decay, Though manhood's prime hath pass'd away Like old Silenus, sire divine, Witli blushes borrow'd from my wine I '11 wanton 'mid the dancing train. And live my follies o'er again ! 279 ODE XLVIIL Whew my thirsty soul I steep, Every sorrow 's luU'd to sleep. Talk of monarchs ! I am then Richest, happiest, first of men ; Careless o'er my cup I sing, Fancy makes me more than king Gives me wealthy Croesus' store, Can I, can I wish for more ? On my velvet t;ouch reclining, Ivy leaves my brow entwining, ■ While my soul expands with glee. What are kings and crowns to me ' If before my feet they lay, I would spurn them all away ' Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, Hasten to the sanguine fight ; But let me, my budding vine ! SpUl no other blood than thina Yonder brimming goblet see, That alone shall vanquish me — Who think it better, wiser far To fall in banquet than in war ODE XLIX. When Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy The rosy harbinger of joy, Who, with the sunshine of the bowl, Thaws the winter of our soul — When to my inmost core he glides. And bathes it with his ruby tides, A flow of joy, a lively heat, Fires my brain, and wings my feet, Calling up round me visions known To lovers of the bowl alone. Sing, sing of love, let music's sound In melting cadence float around, While, my young Venus, thou and I Responsive to its murmurs sigh. Then waking from our blissful trance Again we '11 sport, again we '11 dance. ODE L Whkn wine I quaff, before my eyes Dreams of poetic glory rise ; And freshen'd by the goblet's dews, My soul invokes the heavenly Muaa ODES OP ANACREOW. *28l When wine I drink, all sorrow 's o'er 5 I think of doubts and fears no more ; But scatter to the railing wind Each gloomy phantom of the mind. When I drink wine, th' ethereal hoj Bacchus himself, partakes my joy ; And while we dance tlirough vernal bowers. Whose ev'ry breatli comes fresh from flowers, In wine he makes my senses swim, Till the gale breathes of naught but him ' Again I drink, — and, lo, there seema A calmer light to fill my dreams ; The lately ruffled wreath I spread Wit