THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES BREVIARY TREASURES Odes of Anacreon Anacreontics * And Other Selections from the Greek Anthology tjf Jf tft PRIVATELY PRINTED BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE BOSTON Copyright, 1903 BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE College Library PA 3865 5 1903 b INTRODUCTION COWLEY, Moore, and others, who have made graceful and buoyant paraphrases of Anacreontic imitations, have obscured the real Anacreon. He is a legend, a myth. The few actual remains of his verse, though so delicate, graceful, and yet strong, have in- spired no modern poets. They have been content to imitate his imitators. What he really wrote, his real character, even the de- tails of his life, are difficult to disentangle from the fancies which ages have spun around his name. From the few fragments remaining, we can partly reconstitute the man. He is commonly regarded as the poet laureate of the wine- cup, and yet he commends five parts of water and three of wine a very temperate mix- ture. He spoke out his disgust for those who let their passion for the stimulus of the flowing bowl lead them to neglect the muses and talk of quarrels and tearful war. He despised sot- tishness as barbaric, and found the pleasure of the wine-cup in its quickening, and not stupe- fying, the wits. His extant poetry is marked by wonderful grace, refinement, and spon- taneity. In his own day it was regarded as faultless of its kind, and yet never laboured. i He is known to have written five books of elegies, epigrams, and other short poems. He was a satirist, and, above all, he was a writer of songs. Bournouf speaks of " sa gr&ce in- Jinie et fa tiger etc cbarmante" E. S. Farnell declares that he "was a hater of all things unrefined and excessive." Plato called him "the wise." His reputation is shown by the court paid him by the kings of his day. In 540 B. c. the Persians captured his native city, Teos, and he fled with the majority of the towns- people to Abdera, in Thrace, where he is said to have taken a prominent part in organ- ising the colony. But he was not there long. He went to Samos, and lived under the pa- tronage of Polycrates, whose tyrannical will he may have tempered. It is said that when Oroites, Satrap of Sardis, once went to see the tyrant, he found him in the men's apart- ment talking with the Teian poet. Another story probably a legend, however states that Polycrates presented him with five talents, but that Anacreon returned the money after two nights, declaring that it had kept him awake, wondering what he should do with it ; for riches, he remarked, were not worth the care they cost. After Oroites had captured and crucified Polycrates, in 522, Hipparchus, who was ii then ruling at Athens, sent a fifty-oared galley to fetch the famous poet to his court. There he became intimate with Simonides of Keos and Lasos of Hermione, teacher of Pindar. Anacreon took part in the Panathenaic festi- vals, and was universally admired. The con- spiracy of Harmodius and Aristogeiton broke out in 514. Anacreon escaped, according to the legend, for it is evidently a legend, returned to his native Teos, and died there at the age of eighty-five, choked by a grape- seed. It is more probable that he went to Thessaly, to the court of Echecratides. He was undoubtedly the poet of courts, but, with our slight knowledge of him, it is hardly safe to deny him virtues. Plato would then have been far from praising him with such high-sounding words. The present volume contains the best that is left of AnacreonT The translations, which are for the first time put into English verse, make no pretence to follow the original meter. They simply follow, as closely as possible, the thought of the Greek, and are cast into a semi-metrical form, though in some instances they might be fairly called verse. These de- lightfully fresh and graceful fragments must ever make the lover of poetry regret that so few such flowers have been rescued from before the scythe of Time. ill The genuine is supported with a few ex- amples of the Anacreontics, which for many years were supposed to be genuine, but are now regarded as spurious, and yet are inter- esting as having been inspired by the Teian. These again are supplemented by a number of charming lyrics from other poets with whom he was associated, and from Sappho, whom the poetic legend asserts Anacreon loved. The little volume is really a bouquet of Greek blossoms, a little Anacreontic anthol- ogy, in which the Greek ideas of love and wine are especially emphasised. In this re- spect it has literary unity and interest that will assuredly give it a welcome among those that love real poetry, the poetry that has stood the test of time. The translations are by various poets, and, in some instances, two or more versions of the same original are printed together. This accounts for some variation in the spelling of proper names, some authorities using the Latin form, others a stricter mode of trans- literation. Both methods have their advo- cates and their advantages. But on the whole the Greek spelling, though sensible, seems to savour slightly of pedantry and affectation. N. H. D. iv THE DREAM In a dream unto me came Anacreon, of Teian fame. He accosted me, and I Ran up to him lovingly, And my arms about him threw. Old he was, but fair to view, Fair, a lover of the vine ; His stained lip yet breathed of wine. Falteringly he seemed to tread ; (Love his trembling footsteps led ;) Crowned was his brow, and he Held the garland out to me. Of Anacreon it breathed : Straight my forehead (fool !) I wreathed ; And from that time till to-day I by love am plagued alway. Incerti Autoris de Anacreonte* rs * THE BOWL OF SONG Sweet the song Anacreon sings, Sweet notes flow from Sappho's strings : Pindar's strains, their sweets among, Add, to crown the bowl of song. Such a triple charm would sure Dionysus' lips allure ; Paphos' sleek - skinned queen would deign, Or Love's self, the cup to drain. It is no use to turn the mind to evils ; We shall find no gain, O Bacchus, if we worry ; And the best and only remedy Is to fetch the wine and drink it ! Alcaeus, by N. H. D. TOWOV/MU v etTKaropas iroXiv '' ov yap AYTAPKEIA *Eyo) S' ovr' av ' /3ovXoifJLr)V /cepas, ovr' crea TO ARTEMIS I call to thee, O Artemis, Huntress of fleeting deer, Mistress of savage beasts, Fair daughter of Zeus ! Somewhere beside the streams Of eddying Lethaios now Thou sittest joyfully With eyes fixed on a town Of gallant-hearted men For those thou shepherdest Are law-abiding citizens. MODERATE DESIRES The wonder-horn of Amalthea I have no wish to own ; Nor would I ask for cycled years, Not even as king of Tarshish land ! *EI3 AIONYSON , <5 Sa/ioXi/s *E/3 KUl iropvpfj T' ' uv[Jiiraiovvprj (3aX\s 17 8 , eerriv yap air CUKTITOV /u.ev ACUKT) yap, ?rpos 8' aAAov Tiva XO MEI2 nOSIAHIQN Meis at 8' v , ftapv 8* aypiot 12 A LESBIAN MAIDEN Eros with golden hair Flings again his rosy ball For a challenge : " With a fair Youthful maiden who doth wear Broidered sandals, come and sport ! " But the maiden, whom report Brings from Lesbos nobly founded, Treats my offer with despite, For my hair is snowy white, And she gazes love-astounded At another whom I will not name at all A TEMPEST It is now Poseidon's month. Heavy with water are the clouds And angry showers crash heavily ! *EEAOI A' 'HAY2I' 'AAAO2 'EXEIN Hpum^ra fiv Irpiov Xeirrov fUKpov a otvov 8' C^CTTIOV KaSov, vvv 8' d/3pa>s epoctrcrai' Sa rrj i\rj Kwxawv iraiS* an 'BIS KAEYBOYAON /u,ev ytoy eptw, CTTi/iatvo/xou, e Sto $ fiure iravras, oep' yfjuv, s diva Aye S^VTC iraraya) re V 7ro(rtv ira/j' o?va> , dAAa ev V LOVE AS A SMITH And like a smith Has Eros smitten me Upon his anvil, Then plunged me in a stream Of mountain-water icy cold. A REASONABLE REVEL Come, boy, bring a generous bowl ! Let me drink a mighty rouse, Pouring in ten parts of water, Pouring in five parts of wine, So that I once more may revel In a frenzy, free from madness. Come now, leaving din and shouting, Cease from Scythian modes of revel. Let us drink in decent order, Singing lovely songs the while ! 'AAAMA2TON KOPHN IlwAe pr)Kir], Ti 017 p. OfJ.fJ.a.(TLV /u.' ovSev etStVat aol TfOfjara 8p6fwv. vvv oe Aet/iwvas re (36Ta yap rov dfipov fipvovra. /urpats af.l8f.LV yap dfdv Swoon;?, KCU TAXYMOPOS ' re Siyvre KOVK epai KOU /uaivofuu KOV fj.aivop.ai. 28 I will sing of dainty Eros, Decked with many-colored garlands : He is master of the Immortals, He is victor over men ! FALLING IN AND OUT OF LOVE Once again I love and love not ; I am wild with passion Then repent my madness ! He that is minded to fight Now let him fight For the time is at hand ! 2 9 MT^ o' OXTT KVfW. 7TOVTIOV AoAoe, rfj 'API2TOKAEIAH2 AXKifuav Straight I began with thundering Jove, And all the Immortal Powers but Love. Love smiled, and from my enfeebled Lyre Came gentle Ayres, such as inspire Melting Love and soft Desire. Farewell then Heroes, farewell Kings, And mighty Numbers, mighty Things ; Love tunes my Heart just to my Strings. COWLEY. II. BEAUTY i. To all that breathe the airs of heaven, Some boon of strength has Nature given. When the majestic bull was born, She fenced his brow with wreathed horn. She armed the courser's foot of air, And winged with speed the panting hare. She gave the lion fangs of terror, And, on the ocean's crystal mirror, Taught the unnumbered scaly throng To trace their liquid path along ; While for the umbrage of the grove, She plumed the warbling world of love. To man she gave the flame refined, The spark of heaven a thinking mind ! And had she no surpassing treasure For thee, oh woman ! child of pleasure ? She gave thee beauty, shaft of eyes, That every shaft of war outflies ! She gave thee beauty blush of fire, That bids the flames of war retire ! Woman ! be fair, we must adore thee ; Smile, and a world is weak before thee ! MOORE. n. The bull by nature hath its horns, The horse his hoofs, to daunt their foes; 35 The light-foot hare the hunter scorns ; The lion's teeth his strength disclose. The fish, by swimming, 'scapes the weel; The bird, by flight, the fowler's net ; With wisdom man is armed as steel ; Poor women none of these can get. What have they then ? fair Beauty's grace, A two-edged sword, a trusty shield ; No force resists a lovely face, Both fire and sword to Beauty yield. A. w. (1602). HI. Kind Nature horns to bulls decreed, And armed with hoofs the mettled steed. She form'd for speed the timid hare, The lion's yawning jaws for war : Ordained the fish in streams to rove, And winged the songster of the grove : Courage and thought on man bestowed ; But woman yet was unendowed : What gives she her? Those peerless charms, Which more than equal warrior's arms : That beauty, which by all adored, Subdues, at once, both fire and sword. COWLEY. III. ON EROS i. Cupid abroad was lated in the night ; His wings were wet with ranging in the rain ; Harbour he sought, to me he took his flight, 37 J!V To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain ; I oped the door and granted his de- sire; I rose myself and made the wag a fire. Prying more narrow by the fire's flame, I spied his quiver hanging at his back; Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame, I would have gone for fear of further wrack; But what I feared, did me, poor wretch, betide, For forth he drew an arrow from his side. He pierced the quick and I began to start ; A pleasing wound, but that it was too high. His shaft procured a sharp, yet sugared smart ; Away he flew, for now his wings were dry ; But left the arrow sticking in my breast That sore I grieve I welcomed such a guest. ROBERT GREENE (1589.) n. 'T was at the gloom of midnight hour, When sleep's great god exerts his power ; When wearied swains their eyelids close, And smooth their limbs with soft re- pose ; I heard a rapping at my door, Such as I ne'er had heard before. Who is 't, said I, dares break my sleep, And at my door such uproar keep ? When Cupid shivering, scarce could say, " A luckless boy has lost his way, 39 haste, my friend, and open, pray. You need not fear, I mean no ill, To hurt I have no power nor will ; This dismal, livelong night, in vain, 1 *ve wandered o'er the dreary plain, Half-starved with cold, wet through with rain." With pity moved I heard his moan, Then struck a light and gat me down ; In haste I let him in, when lo ! His hand sustained a silver bow : A pair of shining wings he wore, And at his back a quiver bore. As soon as I a fire had made, My little guest I to it led ; I warmed his fingers with my own, For cold they felt as any stone, Then wiped and wrung, with friendly care, The wet out of his dripping hair. Soon as the thankless elf was warm, And found that he had got no harm, 40 "Let 's try," said he, "I fain would know, Whether the wet has hurt my bow ; " Then from his quiver chose with speed A shaft, predestined for the deed. So strong his silver bow he drew, So swift the fatal arrow flew ! It pierced my liver thro' and thro'. He skipped and danced about the room, And sneering cried, " Come, landlord, come, And as a friend rejoice with me, That I from every harm am free ; I safe indeed have kept my bow, But you shall rue its being so." COWLEY. in. 'T was about the midnight season, When Arktos turns already To the hand of Bootes, And the many tribes of mortals Are all lying, worn and weary ; It was then there came young Eros At my bolted doors a-knocking. " Who is 't knocks," said I, " so loudly? Thou my pleasant dreams dost scatter." But says Eros, " Open, prithee ; 'T is an infant, be not frightened. I am fairly drenched and lonely In the moonless night I wander." At his tale I felt some pity ; So my lamp forthwith I lighted, And I opened ; and an infant I beheld, a bow who carried, And a quiver too and pinions. Then beside the hearth I set him, And I warmed his little fingers In my palms, and from his tresses Did I wring the dripping water. From the cold when he recovered, " Let us," cried he, " make a trial Of my bow ; the string, I fear me, May be damaged by the moisture." And he bends it then and strikes me In my liver, like a gadfly. Up he leapt then, shrilly laughing ; Said : " My host, let us be joyful ; For the bow is quite uninjured ; In thy heart, tho', thou wilt suffer." ARNOLD. IV. ON HIMSELF i. Underneath this myrtle shade, On flowery beds supinely laid, With odorous oils my head o'erflowing And around it roses growing, What should I do but drink away The heat and troubles of the day ? In this more than kingly state, Love himself shall on me wait, 43 Fill to me, Love, nay, fill it up ; And mingled cast into the cup Wit and Mirth and noble Fires, Vigorous Health and gay Desires. The wheel of life no less will stay Since it equally doth flee, Let the motion pleasant be. Why do we precious ointments shower, Nobler wines why do we pour, Beauteous flowers why do we spread Upon the monuments of the dead ? Nothing they but dust can show Or bones that hasten to be so. Crown me with roses while I live ; Now your wines and ointments give ; After death I nothing crave, Let me alive my pleasures have : All are Stoics in the grave. COWLEY. 44 II. Upon tender sprigs of myrtle, Upon pleasant leaves of lotos, I would wish to drink reclining. And let Eros gird his tunic Round his shoulders with papyrus, Fill my wine and wait upon me. For our life doth run as quickly As a chariot-wheel revolving. And when once this frame is shattered, We shall lie a heap of ashes. What avails to anoint a tombstone ? And to pour out vain libations ? Rather anoint me while I 'm living ; And of roses place a garland On my head ; and call my mistress. For ere yet I 'm forced to mingle In the dances down in Hades I would wish to banish sorrow. ARNOLD. 45 V. ON THE ROSE The rose, the flower of Eros, Let us join with Dionysos ; The rose, that blooms so lovely, Around our temples wreathing, Let us drink with gentle laughter. The rose, the best of flowers ; The rose, the Spring's own darling; And e'en the Gods love roses. With the rose Kythera's offspring Enwreathes his silken tresses, When dancing with the Graces. I will crown myself then, harping In thy shrine, O Dionysos, With a fair deep-bosomed damsel, And be-crowned with rosy chaplets, Thickly woven, lead the dances. 46 A FEAST Now with roses we are crowned Let our mirth and cups go round, Whilst a lass, whose hand a spear Branched with ivy twines doth bear, With her white feet beats the ground O To the lute's harmonious sound, Played on by some boy, whose choice Skill is heightened by his voice ; Bright-haired Love, with his divine Mother, and the God of Wine, Will flock hither, glad to see Old men of their company. 47 Armed with hyacinthine rod (Arms enough for such a god), Cupid bade me wing my pace, And try with him the rapid race. O'er the wild torrent, rude and deep, By tangled brake and pendent steep, With weary foot I panting flew, My brow was chilled with drops of dew. And now my soul exhausted, dying, To my lip was faintly flying ; And now I thought the spark had fled, When Cupid hovered o'er my head, And, fanning light his breezy plume, Recalled me from my languid gloom ; Then said, in accents half reproving, " Why hast thou been a foe to loving ? " 48 VIII. THE DREAM i. 'T was night, and many a circling bowl Had deeply warmed my swimming soul ; As lulled in slumber I was laid, Bright visions o'er my fancy played ! With virgins, blooming as the dawn, I seemed to trace the opening lawn ; Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew, We flew and sported as we flew ! Some ruddy striplings, young and sleek, With blush of Bacchus on their cheek, Saw me trip the flowery wild With dimpled girls, and slyly smiled Smiled indeed with wanton glee ; But ah ! 't was plain they envied me. And still I flew ; and now I caught The panting nymphs and fondly thought 49 To kiss when all my dream of joys, Dimpled girls and ruddy boys, All were gone ! " Alas ! " I said, Sighing for the illusions fled, 41 Sleep ! again my joys restore, Oh ! let me dream them o'er and o'er ! " MOORE. n. As on a purple bed supine, Rapt in the pleasing joys of wine, I lulled my weary limbs to rest, Methought, with nymphs supremely blest, A beauteous band, I urged the chase, Contending in the rapid race : While fairest youths, with envy stung, Fair as Lyaeus, 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 ! 't is all a dream. Vext to be thus alone in bed, My visionary charmers fled, In such a dark and joyless scene, I wish to sleep and dream again. COWLEY. THE DOVE Whither flies my pretty dove ? Whither, nimble scout of Love ? From whose wings perfumes distil, And the air with sweetness fill. " Is 't to thee which way I 'm bent ? By Anacreon I am sent To Rhodantha, she who all Hearts commands, Love's general. Nil I to Venus did belong, But she sold me for a song To her poet ; his I am, And from him this letter came, For which he hath promised me That ere long he '11 set me free. But though freedom I should gain, I with him would still remain ; For what profit were the change, Fields from tree to tree to range, And on hips and haws to feed, When I may at home pick bread From his hand, and freely sup Purest wine from his own cup ? Hovering then with wings displayed, I my master overshade ; And if night invite to rest, In his harp I make my nest. " Now thou dost my errand know, Friend, without more questions go j For thy curiosity Makes me to outchat a pie." EROS IN WAX " Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee, 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 passed my way. " Sir " (he answered, and the while Answered all in Doric style), " Take it, for a trifle take it ; Think not yet that I could make it ; Pray believe it was not I ; No it 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 the boy : 53 He shall be my bosom guest, Idol of my pious breast ! " Little Love ! thou now art mine, Warm me with that torch of thine ; Make me feel as I have felt, Or thy waxen frame shall melt. I must burn with warm desire, Or thou, my boy, in yonder fire ! THE COMBAT I will, I will ; the conflict 's past, And I '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 resigned ; And I 've repelled the tender lure, And hoped my heart should sleep secure. 54 But slighted in his boasted charms, The angry infant flew to arms ; He slung his quiver's golden frame, He took his bow, his shafts of flame, And proudly summoned me to yield, Or meet him on the martial field. And what did I unthinking do ? I took to arms, undaunted too : Assumed the corselet, shield and spear, And, like Pelides, smiled at fear. Then (hear it, all ye Powers above !) I fought with Love, I fought with Love ! 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 glanced 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 was forced to yield. 55 Vain, vain is every outward care, My foe 's within, and triumphs there. XII. TO THE SWALLOW Tell me how to punish thee, For the mischief done to me ! Silly swallow ! prating thing, Shall I clip that wheeling wing ? Or, as Tereus did of old (So the fabled tale is told), Shall I tear that tongue away, , Tongue that uttered such a lay ? How unthinking hast thou been ! Long before the dawn was seen, When I slumbered in a dream, (Love was the delicious theme ! ) Just when I was nearly blest, Ah ! thy matin broke my rest ! XIII. ON HIMSELF There are, who tell the story Of the semi-female Attis, Who, mad for fair Kybele, Went shouting 'mong the mountains. There are, who by the Claros Drinking the babbling water Of laurel-bearing Phoibos, Go frantically shouting. But I, intoxicated With Bacchos and with ointments, And my own dearest mistress, Am gladly, gladly frantic. 57 XIV. THE AGED LOVER The women tell me every day That all my bloom has passed away. " Behold," the pretty wantons cry, u Behold this mirror with a sigh ; The locks upon thy brow are few, And, like the rest, they 're withering too ! " Whether decline has thinned 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 nearer, The joys of life are sweeter, dearer ; And had I but an hour to live, That little hour to bliss I 'd give ! XV. CONTENT I not care for Gyges' sway, Or the Lydian sceptre weigh ; Nor am covetous of gold, Nor with envy kings behold ; All my care is to prepare Fragrant unguents for my hair ; Roses for a coronet ; All my care is for to-day ; What 's to-morrow who can say ? Come then, let us drink and dice, And to Bacchus sacrifice, Ere death come and take us off, Crying Hold ! thou 'st drunk enough 59 nv #.--. *.- .? XVI. THE CAPTIVE Thou of Thebes, of Troy sings he ; I my own captivity : *T was no army, horse or foot, Nor a navy brought me to 't, But a stranger enemy Shot me from my mistress' eye ! XVII. TO A MAIDEN Once on the Phrygian mountains, Stood Niobe in marble ; Once too Pandion's daughter Skimmed through the air, a swallow. And I would be a mirror, That thou might'st look upon me : 60 Or I would be a tunic, That thou might'st always wear me ; Or fain would I be water, To wash thy beauteous body ; Or ointment, dearest woman, That so I might anoint thee ; Or a girdle round thy bosom ; Or a pearl-band for thy necklace ; Nay, I would be a sandal, That thou might'st trample on me ! XVIII. ON A SILVER DRINKING -CUP In fashioning this silver, Hephaistos, prithee make me A Panoply -~ by no means. What have I to do with fighting ? But make a hollow beaker, As deep as thou art able, 61 And make me all around it, Not stars, such as the wagon, Or Orion the gloomy. What care I for the Pleiads, Or the stars of old Bootes, But fashion me a vine-stock, With twining grapes upon it, And Maenads gathering bunches. And make me too a wine-press, And Eros and Bathyllos, In gold, to tread the juice out, Conjoined with fair Lyaios. XIX. Oh ! skilful artist, work me A goblet of the spring-time ; The time that brings us roses, Those prime and dearest treasures. 62 And chase upon the silver A full and pleasant banquet. I '11 have no sacrifices ; Nor aught to joy that 's foreign ; Nor any tragic story ; But of Zeus the genial offspring, The great and jovial Bacchus, And love's high-priestess, Kypris, With Hymenaios dancing. And grave the Loves unweaponed, And the Graces sweetly laughing, Beneath a leafy vine-stock, Well-filled with grapes in clusters ; Let handsome youths be added, And let Phoibos too disport him. XX. ON THE NEED FOR DRINKING i. The dry and dusky earth drinks ; The trees, too, drink her moisture, ; The sea doth drink the rivers ; The sun doth drink the sea-waves ; The moon doth drink the sunbeams. Why cavil then at me, friend, That I am fond of drinking ? H. The fruitful earth does drink the rain ; Trees drink the fruitful earth again. The sea does drink the liquid air ; By the sun's beams the sea-waves are Drunk up, which is no sooner done But straight the moon drinks up the sun. 64 Why then, companions, do you think I may not with like freedom drink ? BARTON HOLYDAY (1618). in. The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks and gapes for drink again ; The plants suck in the earth and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself, which one would think Should have but little need of drink, Drinks ten thousand rivers up So filled that they o'erflow the cup ; The busy sun and one would guess By 's drunken fiery face no less Drinks up the sea, and when he 'as done The moon and stars drink up the sun ; They drink and dance by their own light, They drink and revel all the night. Nothing in Nature 's sober found, But an eternal health goes round. Fill up the bowl then, fill it high ! Fill all the glasses there ! for why Should every creature drink but I ? Why, man of morals ? tell me why ! COWLEY. IV. I '11 example you with thievery : The sun 's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon 's an ar- rant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun; The sea 's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears : the earth 's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement : each thing 's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have unchecked theft. SHAKESPEARE (" Timon of Ath- ens," Act iv., Sc. 3. XXL ON HIMSELF Oh ! give me, women, give me, A heavy draught of Bacchus ; For I now subdued and prostrate, With excessive heat am gasping. And his fragrant flowers give me ; Though the wreaths, I fear, will wither, With the which I crown my temples. But the burning heat of passion, How, my heart, shall I extinguish ? m XXII. TO BATHYLLOS i. Come and sit thee down, Bathyllos, In the shade j the tree is lovely ; And its tender tresses quiver On its young and slender branches, And beside it there invites us A rill with suasive murmur. Who could see and yet pass by it, Pass so sweet a place of resting ? ARNOLD. H. Here recline you, gentle maid ! Sweet is this imbowering shade ; Sweet the young, the modest trees Ruffled by the kissing breeze, Sweet the little founts that weep, Lulling bland the mind to sleep ; Hark, they whisper as they roll, 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 ! MOORE. XXIII. GOLD If hoarded gold possessed a 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 day should swell my store ; 69 mfr That when the Fates would send their minion, To waft me off on shadowy pinion, I might some hours of life obtain, And bribe him back to hell again. But, since we ne'er can charm away The mandate of that awful day, Why do we vainly weep at fate, And sigh for life's uncertain date ? The light of gold can ne'er illume The dreary midnight of the tomb ! And why should I then pant for treas- ures? Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures ; The goblet rich, the board of friends, Whose flowing souls the goblet blends ! Mine be the nymph whose form reposes Seductive on that bed of roses ; And oh ! be mine the soul's excess, Expiring in her warm caress ! MOORE. II. If I thought that golden riches Could life bestow on mortals, I watchfully would guard them ; That when Death should come his errand, He might take his share and vanish. But since 't is not permitted, That mortals life should purchase, What boots it vainly sighing ? Why utter lamentations ? Since death indeed is certain, Of what avail are riches ? Nay, let me rather drink then, And of wine the sweetest drinking, With boon companions revel ; And on soft couches lying, Devote myself to Kypris. ARNOLD. XXIV. ON HIMSELF I am sprung of human seed For a life's short race decreed ; Though I know the way I 've gone, That which is to come 's unknown. Busy thoughts do not disturb me ; What have you to do to curb me ? Come, some wine and music give : Ere we die, 't is fit we live. XXV. ON HIMSELF When wine I drink, my sorrows Are quickly hushed in slumber, What care I then for troubles, For tears or lamentations ? From death there 's no escaping ; But life why should I squander ? Then let us quaff the liquor Of the beautiful Lyaios. For when we drink, our sorrows At once are hushed in slumber. XXVI. ON HIMSELF When my sense in wine I steep, All my cares are lulled asleep : Rich in thought, I then despise Crossus, and his royalties } Whilst with ivy twines I wreathe me And sing all the world beneath me. Others run to martial fights, I to Bacchus's delights ; Fill the cup then, boy, for I Drunk than dead had rather lie. 73 ON DIONYSOS When the child of Zeus, Lyaios, The care-dispelling Bacchos, Into my spirit enters, He brings me tipsy pleasure, And how to dance instructs me, There are other joys to charm me, Than mirth and tipsy frolic. In the midst of song and revel Then Afrodita charms me, And again to dance I hasten. 74 XXVIII. THE PICTURE i. Painter, by unmatched desert Master of the Rhodian art, Come, my absent mistress take, As I shall describe her : make First her hair, as black as bright, And if colours so much right Can but do her, let it too Smell of aromatic dew ; Underneath this shade, must thou Draw her alabaster brow ; Her dark eyebrows so dispose That they neither part nor close, But by a divorce so slight Be disjoined, may cheat the sight : From her kindly killing eye Make a flash of lightning fly, 75 Sparkling like Minerva's, yet Like Cythera's mildly sweet : Roses in milk swimming seek For the pattern of her cheek : In her lips such moving blisses, As from all may challenge kisses ; Round about her neck (outvying Parian stone) the Graces flying ; And o'er all her limbs at last A loose purple mantle cast ; But so ordered that the eye Some part naked may descry, An essay by which the rest That lies hidden may be guessed. So, to life thou 'st come so near, All of her, but voice, is here. STANLEY. n. Thy pencil, best of artists, take, The portrait, I describe, to make : Paint, master of the Rhodian art, The absent mistress of my heart. To copy first her tresses try, Of silky touch and sable dye : And, if thy wax possess the power, Let them the sweetest fragrance shower. Beneath her hair, of ebon hue, An ivory forehead let me view ! Her eyebrows you must not divide, Nor must their juncture be descried ; But let the space that lies between, As in her face, be scarcely seen. Her eyes' round fringe exhibit dark, And steal from fire their radiant spark ; In colours like Minerva's blue, With Cytherea's tenderest hue. To show her matchless cheeks and nose, Mingle with milk the damask rose, Her lip ! Persuasion paint for this, Inviting an ecstatic kiss. Beneath her chin, her snowy neck Let all the sportive Graces deck : And let her tender limbs be drest, In a translucent, violet vest, Which, while it slightly veils her skin, The whole discloses from within. Enough ! My girl herself I see ; Soon, wax, like her, you '11 talk to me ! COWLEY. TO XXIX. YOUNG BATHYLLOS And now, with all thy pencil's truth, Portray Bathyllos, lovely youth ! Let his hair, in lapses bright, Fall like streaming rays of light ; And there the raven's dye confuse With the yellow sunbeam's hues. Let not the braid, with artful twine, The flowing of his locks confine ; But loosen every golden ring, To float upon the breeze's wing. Beneath the front of polished glow, Front as fair as mountain snow, And guileless as the dews of dawn, Let the majestic brows be drawn, Of ebon dyes, enriched by gold, Such as the scaly snakes unfold. Mingle in his jetty glances Power that awes and love that trances ; Steal from Venus bland desire, Steal from Mars the look of fire, Blend them in such expression here, That we, by turns, may hope and fear j Now from the sunny apple seek The velvet down that spreads his cheek ! And there let Beauty's rosy ray In flying blushes richly play ; Blushes of that celestial flame Which lights the cheek of virgin shame. Then for his lips, that ripely gem But let thy mind imagine them ! Paint, where the ruby cell uncloses Persuasion sleeping upon roses ; And give his lip that speaking air, As if a word was hovering there ! His neck of ivory splendour 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 then the breast supply, And Leda's son the sinewy thigh. But oh ! suffuse his limbs of fire With all that glow of young desire Which kindles when the wishful sigh Steals from the heart, unconscious why. Thy penci. 1 , though divinely bright, Is envious of the eye's delight, Or its enamoured touch would show His shoulder, fair as sunless snow, Which now in veiling shadow lies, Removed from all but Fancy's eyes. Now, for his feet but, hold ! forbear ! I see a godlike portrait there ; 80 So like Bathyllos ! sure there 's none So like Bathyllos but the Sun ! Oh, let this pictured god be mine, And keep the boy from Samos' shrine ; Phoebus shall then Bathyllos be, Bathyllos then the deity ! XXX. LOVE IMPRISONED i. Love, in rosy fetters caught, To my fair the Muses brought ; Gifts his mother did prefer To release the prisoner, But he 'd not be gone, though free, Pleased with his captivity. STANLEY. 81 II. One day the Muses twined the hands Of baby Love with flowery bands j And to celestial Beauty gave The captive infant as 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. Nay, should they take his chains away, The little captive still would stay. " If this," he cries, " a bondage be, Who could wish for liberty ? " MOORE. XXXI. EUROPA This the figure is of Jove, To a bull transformed by Love, On whose back the Tyrian Maid Through the surges was conveyed : See how swiftly he the wide Sea doth with strong hoofs divide; He (and he alone) could swim, None o' th' herd e'er followed him. XXXII. ON HIS OWN LOVES The leaves of all the forests, If thou art skilled to reckon ; If thou canst tell the billows Of all the seas together ; Of the loves then of my bosom, I '11 make thee sole accountant. And first of all from Athens, Of loves put down a twenty, And then add fifteen others ; And let forsooth from Corinth, A swarm of loves be added ; For, troth, does not Achaia Abound with beauteous women ? Then put me down the Lesbians, And further the lonians, And those from Rhodes and Karia, Of loves, in all two thousand. What say'st ? Go on inscribing. Untold my Syrian passions, And those too of Kanobos ; And those of Krete, possessing All things, within whose cities Doth Eros hold his orgies. Expect not I should reckon, Of all my loves the number, On the other side of Gades ; The Bactrians and the Indians. 84 XXXIII. THE AGED LOVER Fly not thus my brow of snow, Lovely wanton ! fly not so. Though the wane of age is mine, Though the brilliant flush is thine, Still I 'm doomed to sigh for thee, Blest, if thou could'st sigh for me ! See, in yonder flowery braid, Culled for thee, my blushing maid, How the rose, of orient glow, Mingles with the lily's snow ; Mark how sweet their tints agree, Just, my girl, like thee and me ! XXXIV. VAIN ADVICE Prythee trouble me no more ; I will drink, be mad and roar ; Alcmaeon and Orestes grew Mad, when they their mothers slew ; But I no man having killed Am with hurtless fury filled. Hercules with madness struck, Bent his bow, his quiver shook ; Ajax mad did fiercely wield Hector's sword and grasped his shield. I nor spear nor target have, But this cup my weapon wave. Crowned with roses, thus for more Wine I call, drink, dance, and roar ! 86 XXXV. THE SWALLOW i. Gentle swallow, thou we know Every year dost come and go ; In the spring thy nest thou makest ; In the winter it forsakest And divert'st thyself awhile Near the Memphian towers, or Nile : But Love in my suffering breast Builds, and never quits his nest ; First one Love *s hatched; when that flies, In the shell another lies ; Then a third is half exposed ; Then a whole brood is disclosed Which for meat still peeping fly Do their callow brethren feed, And grown up, they young ones breed. What then will become of me Bound to pain incessantly, Whilst so many Loves conspire On my heart by turns to tire ? STANLEY. H. Yes, thou, my pretty swallow, Dost make thy journey yearly ; Thy nest in summer weaving, Unseen again in winter, Or at the Nile, or Memphis. But Eros in my bosom His nest is ever weaving. One Love is fledged already, And one is in the egg still, And one is only half-hatched. And there 's a constant bustle, With the young ones always chirping. And the bigger Loves for ever Are nourishing the smaller. And in their turn the nurslings, 88 Produce a brood of young ones. What course then can be taken ? I have not strength sufficient So many Loves to banish. ARNOLD. XXXVI. CHEERFUL LIVING i. Away, away, you men of rules, What have I to do with schools ? They 'd make me learn, they 'd make me think, But would they make me love and drink ? Teach me this, and let me swim My soul upon the goblet's brim ; Teach me this, and let me twine My arms around the nymph divine ! Age begins to blanch my brow, I 've time for nought but pleasure now. Fly and cool my goblet's glow At yonder fountain's gelid glow. I '11 quaff, my boy, and calmly sink This soul to slumber as I drink ! Soon, too soon, my jocund slave, You '11 deck your master's grassy grave ; And there 's an end for ah ! you know They drink but little wine below ! MOORE. n. Vex no more thyself and me With demure philosophy ; Hollow precepts only fit To amuse the busy wit. Teach me brisk Lyaeus' rites j Teach me Venus' blithe delights. Jove loves water, give me wine, That my soul ere I resign May this cure of sorrow have : There 's no drinking in the grave ! STANLEY. 90 XXXVII. THE SPRING See the Spring herself discloses, And the Graces gather roses ; See how the becalmed seas Now their swelling waves appease ; How the duck swims, how the crane Comes from 's winter home again ; See how Titan's cheerful ray Chaseth the dark clouds away ; Now in their new robes of green Are the ploughman's labours seen : Now the lusty teeming Earth Springs each hour with a new birth ; Now the olive blooms : the vine Now doth with plump pendants shine ; And with leaves and blossom now Freshly bourgeons every bough. mm. XXXVIII. TO HIMSELF 'Tis true, my fading years decline, Yet I can quaff the brimming wine As deep as any stripling fair Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear; And if, amidst the wanton crew, I 'm called to wind the dance's clue, Thou shalt behold 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 the bowl. Then fill it high, my ruddy slave, And bathe me in its honeyed wave ! 92 For though my fading years decay, And though my bloom has passed away, Like old Silenus, sire divine, With blushes borrowed from my wine, I '11 wanton mid the dancing train, And live my follies all again ! XXXIX. FROLIC WINE When of wine I drink a plenty, Then my heart with rapture gladdened Begins its carol of the muses. When of wine I drink a plenty, All my cares and grievous troubles Are driven away and scattered To the billow-lashing breezes. When of wine I drink a plenty, Then the joy relaxing Bacchus, Amid the flowery airs doth whirl me In a glad intoxication. 93 When of wine I drink a plenty, Then I weave me flowery garlands, And upon my head I place them ; And I sing how tranquil life is. When of wine I drink a plenty, Then my body with sweet ointment I anoint, and hold my mistress In my arms, and sing of Kypris. When of wine I drink a plenty, Then with deep and ample goblets, All my inmost bosom opens ; I am charmed with the dance of maidens. When of wine I drink a plenty, As the only gain I count it ; And that gain I carry with me ; For to die is the lot of all men. 94 XL. LOVE STUNG BY A BEE i. Once Eros, mid the roses, A sleeping bee awakened, Which on the finger stung him. His heart was filled with sorrow. Half-running and half-flying, He sought his goddess mother, The beautiful Kythera : "Alas, O mother," crying, " Olola, I am dying ! A little winged serpent, A bee, the shepherds name it, Has stung me on my finger." His mother said : u If bee-stings Are found to be so painful, Cs> 95 Thou seest how mortals suffer When wounded by thy arrows ! " N. H. D. II. L'AMOUR PIQUE PAR UNE ABEILLE Le tendre Amour cueillant un jour des fleurs, Fut, par hasard, pique par une abeille Cachee au fond d'une rose vermeille ; Au meme instant il s'en va tout en pleurs Dire a Venus : u Ma mere, je me meurs ; Je suis pique d'une vipere ailee, Qui dans ces lieux abeille est appelee : Je n'en puis plus, je me meurs, je me meurs." " Si d'une abeille, 6 mon fils, la piqure," Repond Venus, u vous fait tant de dou- leur, Quelle douleur croyez-vous done qu'en- dure Un malheureux dont vous percez le coeur?" M. REGNIER. XLI. PRAISE OF BACCHUS Whilst our joys with wine we raise, Youthful Bacchus we will praise. Bacchus dancing did invent; Bacchus is on songs intent ; Bacchus teacheth Love to court, And his mother how to sport ; Graceful confidence he lends; He oppressive trouble ends ; To the bowl when we repair, Grief doth vanish into air ; 97 Drink we then, and drown all sorrow ; All our care not knows the morrow ; Life is dark, let 's dance and play, They that will be troubled may ; We our joys with wine will raise, Youthful Bacchus we will praise. XLII. MIRTH Yes, be the glorious revel mine, Where humour sparkles from the wine ! Around me let the youthful choir Respond to my beguiling lyre ; And while the red cup circles round, Mingle in soul as well as sound ! Let the bright nymph, with trembling eye, Beside me all in blushes lie ; 9 8 And while she weaves a frontlet fair Of hyacinth to deck my hair, Oh ! let me snatch her sidelong kisses, And that shall be my bliss of blisses ! My soul, to festive feeling true, One pang of envy never knew ; And little has it learned to dread The gall that Envy's tongue can shed. Away ! I hate the slanderous dart Which steals to wound the unwary heart ; And oh ! I hate, with all my soul, Discordant clamours o'er the bowl, Where every cordial heart should be, Attuned to peace and harmony. Come, let us hear the soul of song Expire the silver heart along : And through the dance's ringlet move, With maidens mellowing into love ; Thus simply happy, thus at peace, Sure such a life should never cease ! 99 XLIII. TO THE CICADA i. We may well pronounce thee happy, Oh, Cicada ! that on tree-tops, Having drunk thy little dew-draught, Like a king enthroned thou singest. All thine own are things around thee ; In the fields whate'er thou viewest, And whate'er the wood produces. Thou a friend art to the tiller, Doing harm to naught and no one ; And esteemed thou art of mortals, The sweet harbinger of summer. And the Muses truly love thee : And thou art loved of Phoibos, For thy clear-toned voice he gave thee. And with age thou dost not wither, Loving song, earth-born and prudent ; 100 With nor flesh, nor blood, nor sorrow, To the gods thou 'it nearly equal. ARNOLD. AN DIE CACADA Selig bist due, liebe kleine, Die du auf der Baume Zweigen, Von geringem Trank begeistert, Singend, wie ein Konig lebest ! Dir gehoret eigen Alles, Was du auf den Feldern siehest, Alles, was die Stunden bringen ; Lebest unter Ackersleuten, Ihre Freundin, unbeschadigt Du den Sterblichen Verehrte Sussen Fruhlings susser Bote ! Ja, dich lieben alle Musen, Phobus selber muss dich lieben Gaben dir die Silberstimme, Dich ergreifet nie das Alter, XV I i 101 Weise, zarte, Dichterfreundin, Ohne Fleisch und Blut Geborne, Leidenlose Erdentochter, Fast den Gottern zu vergleichen. GOETHE. XLIV. A DREAM i. I dreamt that I was running With wings upon my shoulders ; And that Eros, having lead-weights On his pretty little ankles, Ran after me and caught me. Say, what might this dream betoken ? As for me, I think that having In so many loves been tangled, And from all escaped in safety, By this new one I am fettered. ARNOLD. 102 As I late in slumber lay, Winged methought I ran away, But Love his feet clogged with lead As thus up and down I fled, Following caught me instantly : What may this strange dream imply ? What but this ? that in my heart Tho' a thousand Loves had part, I shall now their snares declined To this only be confined ! XLV. THE DARTS OF EROS Once the husband of Kythera, At his Lemnian forges working, Took some steel, and 'gan to fashion For the Loves their pointed arrows. 103 And then Kypris took some honey, And she tipt the points with sweetness ; But by Eros gall was mingled. From the war-field then came Ares, And his heavy spear he brandished At the darts of Eros mocking. But said Eros : " This is heavy ; If thou try, so wilt thou find it." And the god received the arrow ; And Kythera smiled to see it. Then said Ares, sighing : " Truly It is heavy ; take it from me." But said Eros : " Better keep it." XLVI. GOLD Not to love indeed is painful ; And to love is also painful ; But the painfullest of all is For a lover to be slighted. 104 But with Eros birth avails not ; And scorned are worth and wisdom, And wealth alone regarded. May he for ever perish Who loved the first for money. Through this there is no brother ; Through this there are no parents ; Through this are war and slaughter. But the worst is that we lovers Through this are doomed to perish. XLVII. ON A GAY OLD MAN i. How I love the festive boy, Tripping with the dance of joy ! How I love the mellow sage, Smiling through the veil of age ! 105 And whene'er this man of years In the dance of joy appears, Age is on his temples hung, But his heart his heart is young ! MOORE. ii. I love a cheerful old man ; I love a dancing young man. But when an old man dances His looks may show him aged, But his spirits prove him youthful. ARNOLD. XLVIII. WINE THE HEALER Who his cups can stoutly bear, In his cups despiseth fear, In his cups can nimbly dance, Him Lyaeus will advance : 106 Nectar of us mortals, wine, The glad offspring of the vine, Screened with leaves, preserved within The plump grape's transparent skin, In the body all diseases, In the soul all grief appeases. XLIX. Nay, but who this sea hath fashioned ? Nay, but what inspired cunning ? Was it o'er the discus poured forth ? Even waves upon the sea's back ? And what mind to the gods uplifted Could upon the sea have graven The white and dainty Kypris, From whom the Blest have being ? He hath drawn the goddess naked ; Only, what it were not lawful To behold, with waves he covers. And floating gently forward, Like a spray of whitest sea-wool, In the smooth and tranquil water, As she plunges with her body, She drives the splash before her ; And just where her rosy bosom From her tender neck is parted She divides the surging billows. In the middle of the furrow She appeareth through the water Like a violet-circled lily. And along the silver billow, Upon leaping dolphins mounted, There are Himeros and Eros, At the wiles of mortals mocking. And a circling band of fishes, Amid the waters scattered, Round Pafia's body gambol, To make her smile in swimming. 1 08 L. THE ROSE i. While we invoke the wreathed spring, Resplendent rose ! to thee we '11 sing ; Resplendent rose ! the flower of flowers, Whose breath perfumes Olympus' bowers ; Whose virgin blush, of chastened dye, Enchants so much our mortal eye, When Pleasure's bloomy season glows, The Graces love to twine the rose; The rose is warm Dione's bliss, And flushes like Dione's kiss ! Oft has the poet's magic tongue The rose's fair luxuriance sung ; And long the Muses, heavenly maids, Have reared it in their tuneful shades. 109 When, at the early glance of morn, It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 'T is sweet to dare the tangled fence, To cull the timid floweret thence, And wipe, with tender hand, away The tear that on its blushes lay ! 'T is sweet to hold the infant stems, Yet dropping with Aurora's gems, And fresh inhale the spicy sighs That from the weeping buds arise. When revel reigns, when mirth is high, And Bacchus beams in every eye, Our rosy fillets scent exhale, And fill with balm the fainting gale ! Oh, there is naught in nature bright, Where roses do not shed their light ! When morning paints the orient skies, Her fingers burn with roseate dyes ; The nymphs display the rose's charms, It mantles o'er their graceful arms, Through Cytherea's form it glows, And mingles with the living snows. The rose distils a healing balm, The beating pulse of pain to calm ; Preserves the cold inurned clay, And mocks the vestige of decay : And when, at length, in pale decline, Its florid beauties fade and pine, Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath Diffuses odour e'en in death ! Oh ! whence could such a plant have sprung ? Attend for thus the tale is sung. When, humid, from the silvery stream. Effusing beauty's warmest beam Venus appeared, in flushing hues, Mellowed by Ocean's briny dews ; When, in the starry courts above, The pregnant brain of mighty Jove Disclosed the nymph of azure glance, The nymph who shakes the martial lance \*"+* Then, then, in strange eventful hour, The earth produced an infant flower, Which sprung, with blushing tinctures dressed, And wantoned o'er its parent breast. The gods beheld this brilliant birth, And hailed the Rose, the boon of earth ! With nectar drops, a ruby tide, The sweetly orient buds they dyed, And bade them bloom, the flowers divine Of him who sheds the teeming vine ; And bade them on the spangled thorn Expand their bosoms to the morn. MOORE. ii. In the garland-bearing Spring-time, Of the rose I sing the praises ; And do thou, my friend, sing with me. Of the gods it is the incense } The delight it is of mortals ; The adornment of the Graces In the Loves' all-flowery season ; And the toy of Afrodita. 112 And the charm it is of fable, And the favourite of the Muses. And 't is sweet to him who finds it, Amid the thorny by-ways ; And 't is sweet to him who takes it In his tender hands to cherish, And uplifts the flower of Eros. To the sage too it is welcome, At all feasts and private tables, And the festivals of Bacchos. For without the rose what were there ? Eros is rosy-fingered ; And the nymphs are rosy-armed too ; And the bards say Afrodita Has a skin of rosy colour. To the rich man brings it comfort, To the dead it gives assistance. And to time it bids defiance ; And the nleasant age of roses Still retains its youthful odour. Of its origin now sing we. What time produced by Pontos WK, Was the dew-besprent Kythera From the foam of azure billows ; And the war-exciting Pallas From his head when Zeus gave birth to, And startled all Olympos ; With a crop of wondrous roses, Then the earth spontaneous sprouted, A many-tinted marvel. And the host of blest Immortals, To perfect the rose imbued it With their nectar, and they bade it On the thorn-bush grow, the honoured And immortal plant of Bacchos. ARNOLD. LI. THE VINTAGE Sabled by the solar beam, Not the fiery clusters teem, In osier baskets, borne along By all the festal vintage throng 114 Of rosy youths and virgins fair, Ripe as the mellow fruits they bear. Now, now they press the pregnant grapes, And now the captive stream escapes, In fervid tide of nectar gushing, And for its bondage proudly blushing ! While, round the vat's impurpled brim, The choral song, the vintage hymn Of rosy youths and virgins fair, Steals on the cloyed and panting air, Mark, how they drink, with all their eyes, The orient tide that sparkling flies j The infant balm of all their fears, The infant Bacchos, born in tears ! When he, whose verging years decline As deep into the vale as mine, When he inhales the vintage spring, His heart is fire, his foot 's a-wing; And, as he flies, his hoary hair Plays truant with the wanton air ! $ While the warm youth, whose wishing soul Has kindled o'er the inspiring bowl, Impassioned seeks the shadowy grove, Where, in the tempting guise of love, Reclining sleeps some witching maid, Whose sunny charms, but half displayed, Blush through the bower, that, closely twined, Excludes the kisses of the wind ! The virgin wakes, the glowing boy Allures her to the embrace of joy ; Swears that the herbage heaven has spread Was sacred as the nuptial bed ; That laws should never bind desire, And love was nature's holiest fire ! The virgin weeps, the virgin sighs ; He kissed her lips, he kissed her eyes ; The sigh was balm, the tear was dew, They only raised his flame anew. 116 And oh ! he stole the sweetest flower That ever bloomed in any bower ! Such is the madness wine imparts, Whene'er it steals on youthful hearts. LII. ON HIMSELF When I see the young men play, Young methinks I am as they ; And my aged thoughts laid by, To the dance with joy I fly : Come, a flowery chaplet lend me ; Youth and mirthful thoughts attend me ; Age be gone, we '11 dance among Those that young are, and be young : Bring some wine, boy, fill about ; You shall see the old man 's stout ; Who can laugh and tipple too, And be mad as well as you. 117 LIII. LOVE'S MARK i. Horses plainly are descried By the mark upon their side : Parthians are distinguished By the mitres on their head : But from all men else a lover I can easily discover, For upon his easy breast Love his brand-mark hath imprest. STANLEY. n. Your horses on their hip-joints A certain brand-mark carry ; And Parthians may by all men Be known by their tiaras. 118 So I when I see lovers At once can recognise them, For a subtle mark they carry Of all their inward feelings. ARNOLD. LIV. THE LYRE OF HOMER Give me the lyre of Homer, But without its chord of battle. And the regulation goblets Bring with the laws together, That tipsily I may gambol ; Yet still with moderation. To the lyre so gaily singing I '11 join the festive carol. ARNOLD. 119 II. Bring me hither Homer's lute Taught with mirth not wars to suit. Reach a full cup, that I may All the laws of wine obey, Drink and dance and to the lyre Sing what Bacchos shall inspire. STANLEY. LV. INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER Prithee now, thou best of painters, To the lyric Muse come listen. Paint for me the sportive Bacchae On their double pipes shrill blowing ; 120 And paint me too the cities, The joyous and the laughing ; And if the wax be able, Paint me the laws of lovers. ARNOLD, n. Best of painters, come, pursue What our Muse invites thee to, And Lyaeus whose shrill flute Vies with her harmonious lute ; Draw me a full city, where Several shapes of mirth appear ; And the laws of love, if cold Wax so great a flame can hold ! STANLEY. 121 LVI. SPRING Pleasant 't is abroad to stray Thro' the meadow deep in hay, Where soft zephyrs, breathing low, Odorous sweets around us throw ; Pleasant, where the gadding vine Weaves a safe shade, to recline With some dainty girl whose breast Cypris wholly hath possest. LVII. UPON CUPID As lately I a garland bound, 'Mongst roses I there Cupid found; I took him, put him in my cup, And drunk with wine, I drank him up. 122 Hence then it is that my poor breast Could never since find any rest. STANLEY. n. As I once in wanton play, Binding up a chaplet lay, Mid the roses on the ground Cupid fast asleep, I found. Straightway, by his wings, well-pleased, I tne little archer seized, Who so oft had vexed my soul, And within my flowing bowl Plunged him deep, then swallowed up, Him, and all that filled the cup. COWLEY. HERE END THE ANACREONTICS 123 A MAENAD Often, on the mountain height, When the gay and solemn rite Of the revels, with their myriad voices, The immortal Gods rejoices, Dost thou bring thy pail of gold Such a mighty vessel as the shepherds hold And with white hands dost thou press From the full dugs of the lioness flB Milk, a noble, noble cheese to make, Round, unfailing, shining white ! From Alcman by N. H. D. ODE II. Blest as the immortal Gods is he The Youth who fondly sits by thee, And hears and sees thee all the while, Softly speak and sweetly smile. 'T was this deprived my Soul of Rest, And raised such Tumults in my Breast ; For while I gazed, in Transport tost, My Breath was gone, my Voice was lost: My Bosom glowed ; the subtle Flame Ran quick thro' all my vital Frame ; O'er my dim Eyes a darkness hung ; My Ears with hollow Murmurs rung. In dewy Damps my Limbs were chilled, My Blood with gentle Horrors thrilled ; My feeble Pulse forgot to play ; I fainted, sunk, and died away. SAPPHO. 125 VIRTUE S1MONIDES I. 'T is said that Virtue dwells on high, Mid rocky steeps, that seek the sky, Where o'er a hallowed realm she holds her sway. No mortal eye her form hath met, Save his, from whose heart galling sweat Breaks out, and wins to manhood's top the way. G. BOHN. n. Virtue delights her home to keep, Say the wise of the olden time, High on a rugged, rocky steep, Which man may hardly climb. 126 And there a pure, bright, shining band, Her ministers, around her stand. No mortal man may ever look That form august to see, Until with patient toil he brook The sweat of mental agony, Which all must do, who reach that goal, The perfect manhood of the soul. HAY. THE VOYAGE OF LIFE PALLADAS Life is an unsafe voyage, where we 're tost And suffer more than those in ship- wrecks lost. But should we Fortune take the helm to guide, Still is the bark oft strained from side to side. 127 Some lucky onward sail ; and back some fall; One port beneath the earth is reached by all. A RUINED CITY AGATHIAS O city, where are those walls of thine, And thy temples rich with slaughtered kine ? And where are the perfumes, the vest of gold, That the Paphian queen adorn ? And where the image, thou hadst of old, Of thy native Triton-born ? The toils of War, and the ruins of Time, and the might of Destiny, Have seized on all, and brought in their stead far different hap to thee. 128 Thus far bitter Envy hath conquered thee. But alone survives thy name ; And envy itself shall conquered be ; For it cannot hide thy fame. THE DIVINE SPARK ASCLEPIADES Young Didyme, in her youth and beauty's glory, Taught me to love her, I kindled at love's fire ; Now love's sky grows dark, and old, and weary of life's story, Still the dying light of love inflames my love's desire ! 129 THE PLANE AND THE VINE ANTIPATER OF SIDON See yonder blushing vine-tree grows, And clasps a dry and withered plane, And round its youthful tendrils throws, A shelter from the wind and rain. That sapless trunk in former time Gave covert from the noon-tide blaze, And taught the infant shoot to climb, That now the pious debt repays. E'en so, kind powers, a partner give To share in my prosperity, Hang on my strength, while yet I live, And do me honour, when I die. 130 WISHING UNKNOWN It 's oh ! to be a wild wind, when my lady 's in the sun , She 'd just unbind her handkerchief, and take me breathing in. It 's oh ! to be a red rose, just a faintly blushing one, So she 'd pull me with her hand, and to her snowy breast I 'd win. ANACREON'S TOMB SIMONIDES I. All-cheering vine, with purple clusters crowned, Whose tendrils, curling o'er the humble mound 131 Beneath whose turf Anacreon's relics rest, Clasp the low column rising o'er his breast, Still may'st thou flourish ; that the bard divine, Who nightly sang the joys of love and wine, May view, though sunk amongst the silent dead, Thy honours waving o'er his aged head ; Whilst on his ashes in perennial rills, Soothing his shade, thy nectared juice distils ; Sweet juice ! but sweeter still the words of fire, That breathed responsive to his tuneful lyre. W. SHEPARD. II. Sweet queen of autumn, mother of the wine, Trail thy green tresses, sorrow-soothing vine, Thy waving tendrils, round the pillared stone, Above the grave where sleeps Anacreon ; That he, the bard who led the tipsy choir The livelong night, and struck the joy- ous lyre, May yet, though dead, around his brows entwine A wreath of grapes, a garland from the vine. Breathe o'er his tomb thy sweet and dewy rain ; Who rests below once waked a sweeter strain. R. 133 TO MENANDER UNKNOWN Behold Menander, Siren of the stage, Who charmed, with love allied, a happier age. Light wanton wreaths, that never shall be dead, Are curled luxuriant round the poet's head; Who dressed the scene in colours bright and gay And breathed enchantment o'er the liv- ing lay. 134 HELEN PHILODEMUS My Helen is little and brown ; but more tender Than the cygnet's soft down or the plumage of doves ; And her form, like the ivy, is graceful and slender, Like the ivy entwined round the tree that it loves. Her voice not thy cestus, O goddess of pleasure, Can so melt with desire, or with ec- stasy burn ; Her kindness unbounded, she gives with- out measure To her languishing lover, and asks no return. Such a girl is my Helen then never, ah ! never, <8 135 Let my amorous heart, mighty Venus, forget her; Oh, grant me to keep my sweet mistress for ever For ever at least, till you send me a better. THE BEGINNING AND THE END UNKNOWN I. Whence was I born, and how ? How was I born, and why ? Alas ! I nothing know, But, born, that I must die. From nothing I was born ; To nothing must return. The end and the beginning Of life is nothingness 136 Of losing, or of winning, Of pleasure, or distress. Then give me wine at least ; There 's nought left but to feast. J. H. MERIVALE. n. How born, and where, and why ? To go I came ; And knowing nothing, nothing learn I can. Nothing I was when born ; and still the same Nothing shall be. Such is the race of man. The pleasure-loving cup of Bacchus fill 5 'T is the sole antidote for every ill. GEORGE BURGES. 137 PROT UNKNOWN I. Thou art not dead, my Prote ; though no more A sojourner on earth's tempestuous shore ; Fled to the peaceful islands of the blest, Where youth and love, for ever beaming, rest ; Or joyful wandering o'er Elysian ground, Among sweet flowers, where not a thorn is found. No winter freezes there; no summer fires ; No sickness weakens; and no labour tires. No longer poverty or thirst oppress, Nor envy of man's boasted happiness ; 138 But spring for ever glows serenely bright, And bliss immortal hails the heavenly light. J. H. MERIVALE. n. Prote, thou art not dead ; but thou hast past To better lands, where pleasures ever last, To bound in joy amidst the fairest flowers Of the blest isles, Elysium's blooming bowers : Thee nor the summer's heat, nor win- ter's chill, Shall e'er annoy, apart from every ill ; Nor sickness, hunger, thirst again dis- tress. Oh ! is there aught on earth to equal this ? 139 Contented thou remote from human woes In the pure light, which from Olympus flows. HAY. WITH A BOUQUET RUFINUS I. I send to thee, my Rhodocle, this wreath entwined with flowers, Which I with mine own hands have newly culled among the bowers ; The lily and the rose, and that sweet bud that woos the wind, With the violet and dew-besprinkled daffodil combined. 140 When then the chaplet shades thy brow, cast haughty looks away ; For thy beauty, blooming like the flowers, will like the flowers decay. F. T. PRICE. n. This crown of fairest flowers, my Rho- docle, By mine own fingers wreathed, I send to thee; The lily, an anemone moist with dew, The rose, narcissus, and the violet blue. Then put it on, and, while it gems thy hair, Be not vainglorious overmuch, my fair; Since, like thyself, the flowers that crown thy brow, Bloom for awhile and die the flowers and thou. HAY. >i\ I 141 WATER AND WINE Great Bacchus, born in thunder and in fire, By native heat asserts his dreadful sire. Nourished near shady hills and cooling streams, He to the Nymphs avows his amorous flames. To all the brethren at the Bell and Vine, The moral says, " Mix water with your wine." A DREAM OF VENUS BION I dreamt I saw great Venus by me stand, Leading a nodding infant by the hand ; And that she said to me familiarly "Take Love, and teach him how to play to me." 142 She vanished then. And I, poor fool, must turn To teach the boy, as if he wished to learn. I taught him all the pastoral songs 1 knew And used to sing ; and I informed him, too, How Pan found out the pipe, Pallas the flute, Phffibus the lyre, and Mercury the lute. But not a jot for all my words cared he, But lo ! fell singing his love-songs to me ; And told me of the loves of gods and men, And of his mother's doings ; and so then I forgot all I taught him for my part, But what he taught me I learnt all by heart. 143 HOPE THEOGNIS For human nature Hope remains alone Of all the deities ; the rest are flown. Faith is departed; Truth and Honour dead; And all the Graces too, my friends, are fled The scanty specimens of living worth, Dwindled to nothing, and extinct on earth. Yet whilst I live and view the light of heaven, Since Hope remains and never has been driven From the distracted world the single scope Of my devotion is to worship Hope. When hecatombs are slain, and altars burn, When all the deities adored in turn, 144 Let Hope be present; and with Hope, my friend, Let every sacrifice commence and end. Yes, Insolence, Injustice, every crime, Rapine and Wrong, may prosper for a time; Yet shall they travel on to swift decay, Who tread the crooked path and hollow wayv HASTE MAKES WASTE THEOGNIS Schemes unadvisable and out of reason Are best adjourned. Wait for a proper season. Time and a fair conjuncture govern all. Hasty ambition hurries to a fall ; A fall predestined and ordained by heaven. By a judicial blindness madly driven, Mistaking and confounding good and evil, Men lose their senses, as they lose their level. A SOLDIER'S WEALTH HYBRIAS OF CRETE I. My wealth is here : the sword and spear ; The breast-defending shield ; With this I plough, with this I sow, With this I reap the field, With this I tread the luscious grape, And drink the blood-red wine; And slaves around in order wait. And all are counted mine. But he, who will not rear the lance Upon the battle-field, Nor sway the sword, nor stand behind The breast-defending shield, 146 On lowly knee must worship me, With servile kiss adored, And peal the cry of homage high, And hail me mighty lord. SIR DANIEL SANDFORD. Much riches these me yield, My gallant spear and sword, And my brave hide-covered shield, The bulwark of its lord. 'T is thus I reap and plough ; 'T is thus the sweet grape tread ; 'T is thus the household bow, And call me lord and head. By those, who will not dare The spear and sword to wield, And the bulwark will not bear Of the brave hide-covered shield, Down on their knees before me, While one and all I bring, m '47 Must as their liege adore me, And hail me mighty king. HAY. HEALTH ARIPHRON OF SICYON Health, brightest visitant from heaven, Grant me with thee to rest ; For the short term by nature given, Be thou my constant guest. For all the pride that wealth bestows ; The pleasure that from children flows ; Whate'er we court in regal state, That makes men covet to be great ; Whatever sweet we hope to find In love's delightful snare ; Whatever good by heaven assigned, Whatever pause from care; All flourish at thy smile divine, The spring of loveliness is thine ; 148 And every joy that warms our hearts, With thee approaches and departs. ROBERT BLAND. n. Hygeia, thou most blest of heavenly powers, Oh ! may I spend my life's remaining hours With thee; and deign thou, goddess ever blest, To dwell with me, a well-pleased fellow guest. Since all the joys, which wealth or off- spring brings, The pomp, the power, the circumstance of kings, Whereby the monarch vies with gods above, The eager, furtive, toil-won joys of love, I.'**' 149 All the delights, which heaven to man may doom, Blessed Hygeia, live with thee and bloom. Bright shines the Graces' spring, when thou art near, And happy hours without thee disappear. HAY. DANAE SIMONIDES I. When the wind resounding high Blustered from the northern sky j When the waves in stronger tide Dashea against the vessel's side, Her care-worn cheek with tears bedewed, Her sleeping infant Danae viewed ; And trembling still with new alarms, Around him cast a mother's arms. 150 My child, what woes doth Danae weep ! But thy young limbs are wrapt in sleep. In that poor nook all sad and dark, While lightnings play around our bark, Thy quiet bosom only knows The heavy sigh of deep repose. ANACREON'S TOMB Grow, clustering ivy, where Anacreon lies; There may soft buds from purple mead- ows rise : Gush, milky springs, the poet's turf to lave, And fragrant wine flow joyous from his grave. Thus charmed his bones shall press their narrow bed, If aught of pleasure ever reach the dead. THE FOOD OF SONG EVENUS Honey-nurtured Attic maiden, Wherefore to thy brood dost wing With the shrill Cicada laden ? 'T is like thee a prattling thing. 'T is a sojourner and stranger, And a summer-child, like thee ; *T is, like thee, a winged ranger Of the air's immensity. From thy bill this instant fling her ; 'T is not proper, just, or good, That a little ballad-singer Should be killed for singer's food. 152 THE WIND OF DEATH UNKNOWN Whether from Athens thou began, Or Meroe thy road, One trodden path still points the way Unto the joyless god. And though an exile's death thou die, And see thy home no more, Blows from each clime a steady gale Swift to the Stygian shore. R. TWEDDEL. ii. Straight is our passage to the grave, Whether from Meroe's burning wave, Or Attic groves we roam : Grieve not in distant lands to die ; Our vessels seek from every sky Death's universal home. FRANCIS HODGSON. 153 THE PATH OF LIFE POSIDIPPUS What path of life would man desire to keep ? Wrangling and strife the forum yields ; at home Are cares ; abroad, incessant toils ; the deep Is vext with storms. An exile would'st thou roam ? If wealthy, fears ; if needy, slights await. Would'st seek to wed ? Expect not so to shun The general doom. Would'st choose a single state ? In joyless gloom thy heavy hours will run. Children are plagues; a childless life 's accurst ; Folly's in youth; in age fresh in- fancy. to 154 Never to have been born, the wise man first Would wish ; and next, as soon as born, to die. PERSUASIVES ON THE CONTRARY METRODORUS In every way of life true pleasure flows. Immortal fame from public action grows. Within the doors is found appeasing rest ; In fields the gifts of Nature are exprest. The sea brings gain. The rich abroad provide To blaze their names ; the poor their wants to hide. All households are best governed by a wife : His cares are light, who leads a single life. 155 Sweet children are delights, which mar- riage bless ; He, that hath none, disturbs his thoughts the less. Strong youth can triumph in victorious deeds ; Old age the soul with pious notions feeds. All states are good ; and they are falsely led, Who wish to be unborn, or quickly dead. BAD MEN THEOGNIS Let no persuasive art tempt you to place Your confidence in crafty minds and base. How can it answer? Will their help avail, When danger presses, and your foes assail ? The blessing, which the gods in bounty send, Will they consent to share it with a friend ? No. To bestrew the waves with scat- tered grain, To cultivate the surface of the main, Is not a task more absolutely vain, Than cultivating such allies as these, Fickle, and unproductive as the seas. Such are all baser minds. Never at rest, With new demands importunately prest, A new pretension or a new request ; Till foiled with the refusal of the last, They disavow their obligations past. But brave and gallant hearts are cheaply gained, Faithful adherents, easily retained ; Men, that will never disavow the debt Of gratitude, or cancel or forget. 157 -^v- Never engage with a poltroon or craven ; Avoid him, Kurnus, as a treacherous haven ; Those friends and hearty comrades, as you think, Ready to join you, when you feast and drink, Those easy friends from difficulty shrink. WEALTH AND INSOLENCE THEOGNIS Wealth nurses Insolence; and wealth we find, When coupled with a poor and paltry mind, Is evermore with Insolence combined. Never in anger with the meaner sort Be moved to a contemptuous harsh re- tort. Deriding their distresses, nor despise In hasty speech their wants and miseries. Jove holds the balance, and the gods dispense For all mankind riches and indigence. TO THE SOUL ARCHILOCHUS I. Soul, oh ! soul, when round thee whelm- ing Cares, like mountain surges, close, Patient bear their mighty rage, and With thy strength their strength op- pose. Be a manly breast your bulwark ; Your defence firm-planted feet ; So in serried line of battle Spears with calm composure meet. Yet in victory's golden hour Raise not your proud vaunts too high ; 159 Nor if vanquished, meanly stooping Pierce with loud laments the sky. But in prosperous fortune so rejoice, and in reverses mourn, As well knowing what is destined For the race of woman born. J. H. MERIVALE. n. My soul, my soul, care-worn, bereft of rest, Arise, and front the foe with dauntless breast ; Take thy firm stand amidst his fierce alarms, Secure; with inborn valour meet his arms. Nor, conquering, mount vain-glory's glittering steep ; Nor, conquered, yield, fall down at home and weep ; 1 60 Await the turns of life with duteous awe ; Know Revolution is great Nature's law. MARQUIS OF WELLESLEY. LIFE ARCHILOCHUS O Life ! how can we fly thee, Save through the gates of Death ? For cruel, countless, are the ills Encompassing thy path. Impossible for any one, Either to suffer or to shun. Yet beautiful is Nature In star, in earth, in sea, In silver moon, and golden sun ; Nought else from care is free. And if with light man's spirit burns Awhile, the deeper gloom returns. 161 TO MELITE RUFINUS The Queen of heaven's bright eyes il- lume thy face ; Great Pallas lends thine arms her pol- ished grace; Thetis thine ancle's slender strength bestows, And Venus in thy swelling bosom glows. Happy the lover, of thy sight possest ; Who listens to thy melting voice, thrice blest ; Almost a god, whose love is met by thine ; Who folds thee in his arms, indeed divine. 162 PRODICE i. When blest I met my Prodice alone, On the cold earth a timid suppliant thrown, I clasped her beauteous knees, and bade her save A wretch, at her disposal, from the grave. Listening she wept. But soon her tears were dried, And with soft hands she pushed me from her side. FRANCIS HODGSON. n. I Prodice found once alone, and at leisure ; When kneeling I touched her am- brosial knee; 163 I O pity, said I, a man dying, my treasure, And save him the breath of life, ha- stening to flee. Thus I spoke : and she wept. Soon the weeping was o'er ; When she rose, and with lily hands showed me the door. G. C. SWAYNE. BEAUTY UNADORNED PAULUS THE SILENTIARY I. We ask no flowers to crown the blush- ing rose, Nor glittering gems thy beauteous form to deck. The pearl, in Persia's precious gulf that glows, Yields to the dazzling whiteness of thy neck. Gold adds not to the lustre of thy hair, But, vanquished, sheds a fainter radi- ance there. The Indian hyacinth's celestial hue Shrinks from the bright effulgence of thine eye, The Paphian cestus bathed thy lips in dew, And gave thy form ambrosial har- mony. My soul would perish in the melting gaze, But for thine eyes, where hope for ever plays. ROBERT BLAND. H. No wreath the rose doth need to grace her brow ; No broidered robe nor jewelled head- dress thou. I6 5 Not whitest pearl can with thy skin compare, Nor gold so bright as thy loose flowing hair. The loveliest hyacinth of Indian fields To thy full-beaming pupil's lustre yields. That dewy lip, that form of melting mould, Thy magic girdle, Venus, here behold. All these undo me j only in thine eyes Comfort I find; there sweet hope ever lies. GOLDWIN SMITH. LOVELY IDA PAULUS THE SILENTIARY When I meant, lovely Ida, to bid thee farewell, My faltering voice the sad office denied ; 166 From my lips broken accents of tender- ness fell, And I remained motionless close by thy side. Nor wonder, sweet girl, at the baffled endeavour ; The pang of the moment, that tears me away, Can only be equalled by that, which for ever Shuts out from my soul the blest prospect of day. Oh ! Ida, 't is thou art my day. 'T is to thee I look for the light, that should make me rejoice; Thy presence the day-spring of pleasure 's to me; But raptures of paradise dwell in thy voice. Thy voice oh ! how sweeter than aught that is feigned Of Sirens or Mermaids, that float on the wave; It holds all my joys, all my passions en- chained, And is able alike to destroy me or save. mm. GREEK SINGERS UNKNOWN O sacred voice of the Pierian choir, Immortal Pindar ! Oh, enchanting air, Of sweet Bacchylides ! Oh, rapturous lyre, Majestic graces of the Lesbian fair ! Muse of Anacreon, the gay, the young ! Stesichorus, thy full Homeric stream ! Soft elegies by Cea's poet sung ! Persuasive Ibycus, thy glowing theme ! Sword of Alcaeus, that with tyrant's gore 168 tiff* Gloriously painted, lift'st thy point so high ! Ye tuneful nightingales, that still deplore Your Alcman, prince of amorous poesy Oh yet impart some breath of heavenly fire To him, who venerates the Grecian lyre. ANACREON DRUNKEN LEONIDAS OF TARENTUM Come, see your old Anacreon, How, seated on his couch of stone, With silvery temples garlanded, He quaffs the rich wine rosy-red. How, with flushed cheek and swimming eye, In drunken fashion from his thigh 169 He lets his robe unheeded steal, And drop and dangle o'er his heel. One sandal 's off, one scarce can hide The lean and shrivelled foot inside. Old Anacreon ! hark, he sings Still of love to the old harp-strings. Still, Bathylla, still, Megiste, How he coaxed ye, how he kissed ye. Gentle Bacchus, watch and wait, You must watch, and hold him straight ; Hold him up ; for if he fall, You lose your boldest Bacchanal. ON A CHAPERON DIOTIMES OF MILETUS Guardian of yon blushing fair, Reverend matron, tell me, why You affect that churlish air, Snarling, as I pass you by ? 170 I deserve not such rebuke ; All I ask is but to look. True, I on her steps attend; True, I cannot choose but gaze ; But I meant not to offend ; Common are the public ways. And I need not your rebuke, When I follow but to look. Are my eyes so much in fault, That they cannot choose but see ? By the gods we 're homage taught ; Homage is idolatry. Spare that undeserved rebuke, E'en the gods permit to look. JOY OF LIVING HEDYLUS Drink we. Midst our flowing wine, Something new, or something fine, 171 Something witty, something gay, We shall ever find to say. Flasks of Chian hither bring, Sprinkling o'er me, whilst you sing " Jovial poet, sport and play ; Sober souls throw life away." zo MELEAGER I. The snowdrop peeps from every glade ; The gay narcissus proudly glows ; The lily decks the mountain shade, Where blooms my fair a blushing rose. Ye meads, why vainly thus display The buds that grace your vernal hour ? 172 For see ye not my Zoe stray Amidst your sweets, a sweeter flower. SHEPHERD. Now the white violets bloom, now bloom the flowers, The hyacinths that delight in dewy showers ; Now bloom hill-loving lilies, and the rose, Love's and Persuasion's flower, in blush- ing sweetness glows. Zenophile, thou heart enslaver, say, Why laugh the meads in all that vain array Of beauty ? since my girl is lovelier far, Than sweetly-breathing garlands ever are. HAY. 173 ZENOPHILE MELEAGER *T is a sweet strain, by Pan or Arcady, Which warbles from thy lyre with thrilling sound, Zenophile ; oh ! how can I be free ? Since Loves on every side enclose me round, Forbidding me to breathe a single hour In peace, since first thy beauty, then thy lyre, Thy face, and then oh ! words of feeble power Thy perfect all has set me all on fire. LESBIA MELEAGER I. Fill high the goblet ; fill it up ; With Lesbia's name divine Thrice uttered crown the sparkling cup, And sweeten all the wine. Tie round my brows the rosy wreath, Which yesterday we wove With flowers that yet of odours breathe In memory of my love. See how yon rose in tears is drest, Her lovely form to see No longer folded on my breast, As it was wont to be. J. H. MERIVALE. n. Fill give the health once more, once more 175 Mix Heliodora's name with wine ; The ruby juice untempered pour, And round my brow the garland twine ; Memorial of the gift it blooms With flowers that yesterday o'ertopt their stems ; But now, dipt moist in new perfumes, Shed odour drops from their anointed gems. Lo ! the rose weeps, the lover-loving flower, To see the nymph away, who shared my bower. ELTON. LOVE'S DARTS MELEAGER Ringlets, that with clustering shade The snow-white brows of Demo braid ; 176 Sandals, that with strict embrace Heliodora's ancles grace ; Portal of Timarion's bower, Besprent with many a fragrant shower; Lovely smiles that lurking lie In Anticleia's sun-bright eye ; Roses, fresh, in earliest bloom, That Dorothea's breast perfume No more Love's golden quivers hold Their feathered arrows, as of old 9 But every sharp and winged dart Has found a quiver in my heart. MIGHTY IS LOVE MELEAGER Mighty is Love ; most mighty ; once again I cry, most mighty, writhing with my pain, 177 And deeply groaning ; who, for mischief born, Mocks at our woes, and laughs our wrongs to scorn. The cold blue wave, from which thy mother came, Proud boy, should quench, not feed, that cruel flame. THE CICADA MELEAGER I. Oh ! shrill-voiced insect, that with dew- drops sweet Inebriate, dost in desert woodland sing, Perched on the spray-top with indented feet, Thy dusky body's echoings, harp-like, ring. Come, dear Cicada, chirp to all the grove, The Nymphs and Pan, a new respon- sive strain, That I, in noonday sleep, may steal from Love, Reclined beneath the dark o'erspread- ing plane. ELTON. ii. Loud-sounding grasshopper, *t is thine, with dewdrops drunk, to fill The speaking solitudes afar, with thy rural notes so shrill ; Thou sitt'st on high, and ne'er thy feet, broad, flat, and saw-like, tire In striking from thy dusky wings clear notes, as from a lyre ; 'Come then, some new and sportive song, to the Wood-Nymphs now essay, 179 Thou loved one, while thy rival Pan gives back the alternate lay ; That Love may for awhile forbear to pierce this heart of mine, While I, in quest of noontide sleep, in the plane-tree's shade recline. HAY. HELIODORA MELEAGER I. I '11 wreathe white violets ; with the myrtle shade Bind soft narcissus; and amidst them braid The laughing lily ; with whose virgi hue Shall blend bright crocus, and the hya- cinth blue. 1 80 There many a rose shall interwoven shed Its blushing grace on Heliodora's head, And add fresh fragrance, amorously en- twining Her clustered locks, with spicy ointments shining. J. H. MERIVALE. n. I '11 twine white violets, and the myrtle green ; Narcissus will I twine, and lilies sheen ; I '11 twine sweet crocus and the hyacinth blue; And last I '11 twine the rose, love's token true; That all may form a wreath of beauty, meet To deck my Heliodora's tresses sweet. GOLDWIN SMITH. 181 OPPORTUNITY POSEIDIPPUS A. Whence did he come ? and what the sculptor's name ? B. Lysippus ; and from Sicyon he came. A. Thy name ? B. All-potent Oppor- tunity. A. On tiptoe why ? B. I 'm ready aye to flee. A. But why that twofold nature, winged feet ? B. Than heaven's own blasts my move- ments are more fleet. A. The razor in thy right hand, tell me why ? B. Sharp is its edge ; but sharper still am I. A. Why hair on front? B. That he who meets me may 182 Hold fast, by Jove. A. Why bald behind ? now say. B. When once my winged feet have borne me past, Man tries in vain behind to hold me fast. A. Sculptured on whose account ? B. Thine, friend ; and see, My site's the temple's porch, that all may learn of me. TOO EARLY DAWN ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA The last star is just going out And the resonant herald of day Long since is awake and doth shout " He is coming, away ! 183 " Away from Chrysilla to tell Thy beads and forget not thy cowl." Go and crow for the day down in hell, Malevolent fowl. Tithonus is rusty and old That his rosy young consort doth chase So early away from his cold And feeble embrace. HERACLEA'S OATH ASCLEPIADES By thee, my lamp, thrice Heraclea swore To come again unto our playing pleas- ant. She comes not; thou, her god, art omnipresent, And there as here canst take thy ven- geance sore. 184 So some time, when her play is at its height, Go out, and let the actors lack thy light. NIGHT AND THE LAMP MELEAGER O Lamp and holy Night, We summoned none but you To chronicle aright Our troth and promise true. " I '11 love thee," so she swore, And I, " I will not quit Thee, dear, for evermore," You heard and treasured it. Now, Night, she doth protest Her oath was for the day, And, Lamp, thou knowest best How mine she laughs away. I8 S A LETTER FROM EPHESUS RUFINUS My darling Elpis, joy abide with thee, If joy be joy when thou art far from me ; For, by thy eyes, all this great city gay To me 's a hermitage by night and day, Either on lone Coressus hill I weep Or in Great Dian's church my vigil keep. To-morrow home again j straight to my light I '11 fly : till then a thousand times good- night. EROS ALCMUS I hate the lazy archer boy, That makes my tethered heart his toy, 1 86 Nor climbs to find a stag. What glory, if a god strike dead A mortal weak ? no antlered head Is mine to show and brag. PRESENT DELIGHT RUFINUS Let us bathe ; on our brows let us twine The roses and sup. No water to temper the wine, And larger the cup. For delight is a treasure that ends, And when it is past, Old age and the parting from friends And death at the last. EUROPE'S KISS RUFINUS The kiss of Europe were sweet did it light on the brink Of the mouth for a moment, yea sweet did it stoop once to drink : But it waits not to sip from the bank ; the soul's passage it stops, And from all the far fountains that feed her it drains the last drops. A MOONLIGHT CHASE MARCUS ARGENTARIUS O little golden-horned moon, And all the stars that thee escort, Sink not into the sea too soon, But shine to-night upon our sport. 1 88 Now for a week and up the wind I run Ariste's scented track, But ever that enchanted hind Doth fly before my foolish pack. Kypris to-night her bugle sounds, And calls her pack that hunteth well, The forty magic silver hounds ; And surely they will break the spell. TO VENUS MARINA GAITALIKES These I lay upon thy table, Little cakes ; I am not able Richer gifts to bring to thee, Queen of the church by the Ionian Sea. When to-morrow there I 'm tossing, Hear my prayer and speed the crossing; 189 For I hurry home to rest Again in Greece on Idothea's breast. Send us aye fair wind and weather Love and me, who sail together. Not on this wild shore alone, There in her chamber too is set thy throne. THE PROPER AGE HONESTUS My wife I would nor pity nor revere. Neither a school-girl nor a virgin sere, Neither sour grape nor raisin will I wed, But her ripe summer's gale shall guide me to her bed. 190 A CRUEL MISTRESS CALLIMACHUS Warm be thy bed, K on op ion, as thy lover's, Whom only night with her cold mantle covers ; Thy pillow soft as this thy threshold stone, Thy lullaby that the shrill wind doth moan. Thou hast no drop of pity, not the merest Droplet; the neighbours call me in, thou hearest, But thou one day thou 'It think on this ; the gray Remembrances are not so far away. 191 A GENUINE PASSION MELEAGER "Come away," cries my soul, "from thy Heliodore, My old tears are not dry, my old wounds are still sore." Yea I hear and I cannot ; she too bids " away," But more wanton her kisses the more I delay. TO KYDILLA MELEAGER Each time I come my head to lay Upon thy bosom bright, Whether I face the accusing day Or venture through the night, 192 I know I tread a fearful track Along a precipice ; Staking my life, behind my back I blindly cast the dice. What 's that to me ? my heart is bold; And bolder is my guide. When steadfast Love the rope doth hold, I risk the dreadest stride. SUNNY HAIR UNKNOWN Dear, whether like the starling's wing you wear, Or like the pheasant's breast your queenly hair, 193 It 's just as full of sunshine ; Love will stay Warm still amongst it when you wear it gray. MELISSA I RUFINUS Where 's all thy glory gone, Melissa, where The gems that glowed in thy illustrious hair ? Where is thy haughty glance, thy neck erect, Where is the gold that thy proud ankles decked ? Cheap gilt in thin locks, round thy feet a wreath Of tawdry rags ; so rich whores dress for death. 194 BRAMBLES AND ROSES RUFINUS Now black-beard says " Good morning." Where the spell Of rosy cheeks like marble polished well ? Now cropped-hair courts me. Where are all the curls Strayed on his neck as haughty as a girl's ? No thanks ! though both have thorns, they 're different quite, Brambles that catch and roses that invite. LOVE MAY BE BOUGHT ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA All Homer says is gospel truth, but this Most true, that Aphrodite golden is. 195 For bring the guinea, and the porter tall And savage Hector vanish one and all ; But come without it, Hector's heads are three. Thus wealth oppresses virtuous poverty ! Ages there were of silver, brass, and gold : Love lived through all, and, now he 's wise and old, Impartial grown the golden senator He low salutes, the brazen man of war He kisses, and the silver city man He never cuts. Before our race began Things were the same ; Zeus came to Danae Not gold, but with a hundred guinea fee. 196 DANAE'S LOVER PARMENION In gold thou didst thy godhead's form dissemble Coming to Danae's bed, That she, poor soul, might hug the gift, not tremble Before thy presence dread. DINING OUT NICARCHUS " You must stop this dining out," Says the doctor. " No, sir ! Just as steady with the gout To my grave I '11 go, sir. All the lodge will come to bear Home their fellow sinner. 197 Never once again, I swear, Will I miss a dinner." LOVE'S DANGERS Love's corsairs, Crocodile and Shark, Are hovering round the harbour. Mark Me right, ye Samian youth ; the alarm I 've sounded loud, but ere ye arm To sail and fight them well bethink ye ; They '11 gulp ye down if once they sink ye. HE. " Good evening." SHE. evening." HE. "And your name ? " Good what is 198 SHE. What is yours ?" HE. "Don't be curious." SHE. " Well you are the same." HE. " Have you any appointment ? " SHE. " With who likes my face." HE. " Will you not come to dinner to- night in that case ? " SHE. " If you like." HE. " Do you mind my enquiring the price ? " SHE. " O thanks ! I don't bargain." HE. "That 's strange!" SHE. "If I 'm nice, You can give me a present to-morrow." HE. Most fair ! " SHE. " And where are we to dine ? " HE. " I '11 send round for you." SHE. "There Is my house; mark it well." HE. "At what hour shall we say ? " SHE. "When you will." HE. "Why not now ? " SHE. " Then please show me the way." 199 * MATURE BEAUTY RUFINUS Her eyes are stars of gold set in a globe of crystal. Her mouth is sweeter than a rose ; red- der than the rose leaves are her lips. Her neck is a round tower of marble; her breasts are carved from the stone of Pares. Her feet are like the feet of Thetis: they are whiter than fine silver. But the autumn has powdered her head ; the thistle-down glistens in her hair. Shall I not reap the corn because it is white ? Shall I consider the glory of its spring- tide? 200 POVERTY AND LOVE UNKNOWN Poverty is a very bitter mate, A bitterer Desire. Easy to shiver by a coal-less grate ; But hard to bear the fire. WHO AND WHEN? UNKNOWN I loved, I kissed, she kissed me back and love was in her kiss ; But who loved whom, and when and why ask Love to tell you this. 2O I THE DEATH OF FAITH DIOSCORJDES True Love, false Faith, together linked we. Plighting Sosipater to Arsinoe. Dead now is Faith, since she 's untrue, but Love Lives yet and calls for vengeance from above. Let Hymen chant as for one newly dead ; For Faith is laid out on her marriage bed. INDISCRETION DIOSCORIDES Oh restless rosy portals My thirsting soul that waste ! Oh drink of the immortals, That maddens when I taste ! 202 Beneath her thick brows flashes The lightning of her eyes, And in their fine-spun lashes My heart entangled lies. Oh milky founts redundant With Love on sister hills, Sweeter than all the abundant Scent that the spring distils ! Peace ! fool, that dost her glories To all the town betray. The reeds that would tell stories Are sighing still to-day. A COSTLY SIEGE ARCHIAS He will take the little tender Captain this my strong position ; 203 But he shall ere I surrender Finish all his ammunition. Fear not, bachelors, his army From my siege advancing prouder, His artillery cannot harm ye ; That has neither shot nor powder. AN APPEAL MELEAGER O Love, be kinder, Or some day Alighting with thy cruel torch Again my singed soul to scorch Thou wilt not find her. She too has wings to fly away. 204 AN IDLE RACE ARCHIAS You bade me run from Love ; I 'm out of breath With running ; close above He hovereth. TO ZEUS ASCLEPIADES Snow, hail, turn day to night and night to day, Thunder and wring from thy black robe the rain. Slay me, I '11 rest ; but if thou spare to slay, Through worse I '11 run unto her door again. 205 For the God calls at whose command of old The brazen wall thou clovest turned to gold. TO PRODIKfc RUFINUS To-day my Prodike finding alone, I clasped her knees and thus I made my moan : " Oh save a poor man sick to death, and stay His ebbing life that almost now hath ceased." She listening wept, but wiped her tears away, And with her tender hands mine own released. 206 SUCCESSFUL BAIT Graceless good looks Get many a rise, Like taking flies With broken hooks. THE BEAUTY OF MAEONIS RUFINUS Pallas and Hera with the golden shoes Saw Maeonis and from their hearts cried out, " We '11 not disrobe again ; for twice to lose A shepherd's prize were not defeat but rout." 207 ^ WOMAN, WINE, AND SONG RUFINUS Well have they said it that life is delight ; get away, all ye worries. Man doth but live for a span ; from nothing to nothing he hurries. Women and wine and the dance, and the flowers our heads are adorning, They are the gifts of to-night; who knoweth the secrets of morning ? A SOUL ALMOST LOST PLATO The poor imprisoned soul in me Came running when we kissed Up to the gate to cross to thee And by a moment missed. 208 RHODOKLEIA BATHING RUFINUS Ye spirits of the stream, I knew not who could dream ? That Kytherea loves its eddies cool, And I should find her by my favourite pool Letting her lustred hair Run down her shoulders bare. " Have mercy on these mortal eyes, my queen, That thy immortal nakedness have seen." Hush ! it can not be she. 'T is only Rhodokle, That naked Kypris of her loveliness Stripped, and put on herself that dazzling dress. 209 A TEST PLATO My apple catch ; if from thy heart Thou kissest, then give me a part Of it and of thy day ; But if 't is but thy lips that kiss, Then keep it whole to teach thee this, How rosy cheeks decay. A PEACH PLATO I am the peach one threw to thee, that loves thee ; grant his boon. The bloom upon my cheeks and thine shall fade away too soon. 2IO LOVE NOW Thou keepest well thy maidenhead. What will it serve thee when thou 'it dead, When they have laid thee in the tomb, No lover in that narrow room ? Here in the living air above Is all the glorious joy of love. There dust and ashes we will lie, I and thy proud virginity. Roses in your basket, And your cheeks are rosy, Redder when I ask it " Which do you sell, 211 Yourself or the posy Or both as well ? " LOVE'S SCOURGE Melissias will not avow she smarts, Tho' stuck all over with the tell-tale darts. Look how she hastes, then stops love- struck; in snatches She draws her breath; look at Love's purple scratches Beneath her eyes. Scourge her, dear Love, till spurts The blood, or she will never cry " It hurts." 212 TO LOVE RUFINUS If thou canst not find coals enough to unfreeze This statue too, Put out, or somewhat shift the brazier, please : I 'm roasted through. TRUE LOVE MARCUS ARGENTARIUS He loveth not whose cool judicious eyes Mark down some brilliant beauty for his prize. But he who stricken by a homely face Feels his wild blood all through him quicker race. 213 He loves, he burns ; for beauty any fool Can pine, who learned its alphabet at school. THE WIND AND THE ROSE UNKNOWN O would I were the cool wind that 's blowing from the sea, That thou mightst bare thy bosom and take me in to thee. O would I were the pink rose beside thy path doth grow, And thou wouldst pluck me for thy breasts that are as white as snow END OF VOLUME I. m 214 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES COLLEGE LIBRARY This book is due on the last date stamped below. KtU U COL . JUN3 is; REC'O COL LIB. APR 8W4 U COL LIB. m/j is 3 1975 Book Slip-35m-9,'62(D2218s4)428U L 005 477 478 1 College Library 001 150 508 8