Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

Ode XV.-1. The wealth of Gyges I despise,] Gyges was the favourite of Candaules king of Lydia, whose queen was remarkably beautiful, and passionately admired by her husband.

In his va

nity he extolled her charms above measure to Gyges, and to convince him of her beauty, determined to show her to him naked: which he effected, but not without the queen's discovering the affront; who uext morning sent privately for Gyges, and resolutely told him, he must either suffer immediate death for what he had done, or dispatch Candaules, and take her and the kingdom of Lydia for his recompense. The choice was difficult, as he greatly valued his master: however, the love of life prevailed-he stabbed Candaules, married the queen, and took possession of the kingdom.

9. To morrow is a distant day.] There is an epigram in the second book of the Anthologia, that has the same turn:

Πινε, και ευφραίνω" τι γαρ αύριον, η τι το μέλλον,
Ουδείς γινώσκει μη τρεχει μη κοπια.

Ως δύνασαι χαρίσαι, μετάδος, φάγε, θνητα λογιζε,
Το ζην τι μη ζην εδεν όλως απέχει
Πας ὁ βιος τοιος δε, ροπήν μόνον αν προλάβη τις
Αν δε θάνης, έπεξε πανία, συ δ' εδεν εχεις.
Cease from thy cares and toils, be sweetly gay,
And drink-To morrow is a distant day:
Improve on time; to bliss each moment give;
Not to enjoy this life, is not to live:

Then while the hour serenely shines, Toss the gay die, and quaff thy wines; But ever in the genial hour,

To Bacchus the libation pour, Lest Death in wrath approach, and cry; "Man-taste no more the cup of joy."

ODE XVI.

BY THE SAME.

THE POWER OF BEAUTY.

SOME sing of Thebes, and some employ
Their numbers on the siege of Troy.
I mourn, alas! in plaintive strains,
My own captivity and chains.

10.

No navy, rang'd in proud array,
No foot, no horseman arm'd to slay,
My peace alarm: far other foes,
Far other hosts create my woes;
Strange, dangerous hosts, that ambush'd lie
10
In every bright, love-darting eye!

Our goods are now our own, but when we die
They come to others while in dust we lie,
And then, alas! have nothing to enjoy.

Horace expresses himself in the same manner book 1. ode 9.

Quid sit futurum cras fuge quærere: et
Quem sors dierum cumque dabit, lucr●
Appone: nec dulces amores

Sperne puer, neque tu choreas;
Dum virenti canities abest
Morosa-

To morrow and her works defy;
Lay hold upon the present hour,
And snatch the pleasures passing by,

To put them out of fortune's pow'r ;
Nor love, nor love's delights disdain,
Whate'er thou gett'st to day is gain.

Dryden,

Ode XVI.-1. Some sing of Thebes,] Anacreon alludes to the famous war of the seven captains against Thebes, occasioned by Eteocles the son of Edipus and Jocasta, refusing his brother Polynices his share in the government, though they had previously agreed, after their father's death, to rule alternately year by year. Eschylus wrote a tragedy on this subject,

3. I mourn, alas! in plaintive strains, My own captivity and chains.] Ovid has imitated this passage-Amor, 1. 2. eleg,› 18.

Vincor, et ingenium sumptis revocatur ab armis,
Resque domi gestas, et mea bella cano.

I'm conquer'd, and renounce the glorious strain
Of arms and war, to sing of love again:
My themes are acts which I myself have done,
And my Muse sings no battles but my own.

9. Dangerous hosts that ambush'd lie In every bright, love-darting eye!] Nonnus calls the eyes, The archers of Love, axovlings wr; and there is something similar to this in an epigram of the Anthologia, book 7which, speaking of love, says,

Such as destroy, when beauty arms, To conquer, dreadful in its charms!

ODE XVII.

THE SILVER BOWI

MULCIBER, this silver take, And a curious goblet make; Let thy utmost skill appear Not in radiant armour there; Let me there no battles see; What are arms or wars to me? Form it with a noble sweep,

Very wide, and very deep.

Carve not there the northern Team,

Nor Orion's dreadful beam;

Pleiads, Hyads, Bears displease;
What have I to do with these?
Why should slow Bootes roll,
Why should horrid monsters prowl,
On the margin of my bowl?
Draw me, what I value more,
Vines with purple clusters store,
Bacchus ever young and fair,
Cupid with the golden hair,
Gay Bathyllus too be there.
See that, beautiful and bold,
All these figures rise in gold;
In the wine-press let them join
Hand in hand to tread the wine.

Ον με λέληθας,

Τοξοτα, Ζηνοφίλας ομμασι κρυπτομενος. Insidious archer, not anseen you lie,

10

20

Though ambush'd close in Zenophelia's eye. Ode XVII.-This elegant ode is quoted by Gellius, who says it was sung and played upon instruments at an entertainment where he was present.

9. Carve not there the northern Team, &c.] The poet alludes to the constellations, which Vulcan described on the shield of Achilles. See Homer's Iliad, book the 18th.

There shone the image of the master mind:
There Earth, there Heaven, there ocean he de-
sign'd;

Th' unweary'd Sun, the Moon completely round;
The starry lights that Heaven's high convex crown'd;
The Pleiads, Hyads, with the northern Team;
And great Orion's more refulgent beam,
To which, around the axle of the sky,
The Bear revolving points his golden eye,
Still shines exalted on th' etherial plain,
Nor bathes bis blazing forehead in the main.

Pope.

10. Nor Orion's dreadful beam ;] Anacreon calls Orion, sʊyvov, odious, because he is the forerunner of tempests, and therefore dreadful to mariners. Horace calls him infestus, Epode 15.

Dum pecori lupus, et nautis infestus Orion.
As long as wolves pursue the fearful sheep,
And stern Orion rages o'er the deep.

ODE XVIII.

ON THE SAME.

CONTRIVE me, artisan, a bowl
Of silver ample as my soul;

And in the bright compartments bring
The sweet profusion of the Spring;
Let that fair season, rich in flowers,
Shed roses in ambrosial showers;
Yet simply plain be thy design,
A festive banqueting of wine;
No hieroglyphics let it have,
No foreign mysteries engrave,
Let no blood-thirsty heroes wield
Rough armour in the silver field;
But draw me Jove's delightful boy,
Bacchus the god of wine and joy:
Let Venus with light step advance,
And with gay Hymen lead the dance.
Beneath the leaf-embellish'd vine,
Full of young grapes that promise wine,
Let Love, without his armour, meet
The meek-ey'd Graces laughing sweet.
And on the polish'd plain display
A group of beauteous boys at play;
But no Apollo, god of day.

ODE XIX.

WE OUGHT TO DRINK.

THE thirsty Earth sucks up the showers Which from his urn Aquarius pours;

20

The trees, which wave their boughs profuse, Imbibe the Earth's prolific juice;

The Sea, in his prodigious cup,

Drinks all the rain and rivers up;

Ode XVIII.-19. Let Love, without his armour,

meet

[sweet.]

The meek-ey'd Graces laughing It is not without reason that Anacreon, after having mentioned Venus, introduces Love among the Graces; being sensible, that though beauty alone might please, yet without the aid of other charms, it could not long captivate the heart. Καλλος ανευ χαριτων τέρπει μόνον 8 κατέχει δι, Ως ατερ αγκίστρι νηχόμενον δέλτας.

Beauty without the graces may impart
Charms that will please, not captivate the heart;
As splendid baits without the bearded hook
Invite, not catch, the tenants of the brook.

23. But no Apollo, god of day.] The poet de sires that Apollo may not be described upon his bowl, because he was so unfortunate as to kill his favourite Hyacinthus, as he was playing with him at quoits.

Ode XIX.-5. The Sea, in his prodigious cup, Drinks all the rain and rivers up ;] The original is, Пive Fahaosa ♪ avça;, The sea drinks up the air. All the commentators are silent here, except Dr. Trapp, who owns he did not understand the expression. Might I venture to make an easy alteration of the text, I would read, LIVEL Jaraoa' araugus, The sea drinks up the rivers. See Ode 7th. Δια δ' άξεων με αναύρων, Through rapid rivers, or torrents. It is likewise used in the same

The Sun too thirsts, and strives to drain
The sea, the rivers, and the rain;
And nightly, when his course is run,
The merry Moon drinks up the Sun.

Then give me wine, and tell me why,
My friends, should all things drink but I?

ODE XX.

BY DR. BROOME.

TO HIS MISTRESS.

THE gods o'er mortals prove their sway,
And steal them from themselves away.
Transform'd by their almighty hands,
Sad Niobe an image stands;
And Philomel up-borne on wings,
Through air her mournful story sings.
Would Heaven, indulgent to my vow,
The happy change I wish allow;
Thy envy'd mirror I would be,
That thou might'st always gaze on me;
And, could my naked heart appear,
Thou'dst see thyself-for thou art there!
Or were I made thy folding vest,
That thou might'st clasp me to thy breast!
Or, turn'd into a fount, to lave
Thy naked beauties in my wave!
Thy bosom-cincture I would grow,
To warm those little hills of snow:
Thy ointment, in rich fragrant streams
To wander o'er thy beauteous limbs ;
Thy chain of shining pearl, to deck
And close embrace thy graceful neck:
A very sandal I would be,

To tread on-if trod on by thee.

10

10

20

sense by the best authors. Moschus, Idyllium 2, 31. See also Hoelzinus on Apollonius Rhodius, book 1, 9. This emendation makes the sense full and complete.

10. The merry Moon drinks up the Sun.] The Moon is said to drink up the Sun, because she borrows her light from that luminary.

Ode XX.-4. Sad Niobe an image stands;] Niobe was the daughter of Tantalus king of Phrygia, and wife of Amphion king of Thebes, by whom, according to Homer, having six sons and six daughters, she became so proud of her offspring and bigh birth that she had the vanity to prefer herself to Latona, the mother of Apollo and Diana, who, to revenge the affront offered to their parent, in one day slew all her children; upon which Niobe was struck dumb with grief, and remained stupid. For that reason, the poets have feigned her to be turned into a stone. The story is told by Ovid in the sixth book of the Metamorphoses; but perhaps better by Pope, in his translation of the twenty-fourth book of the Iliad, where Achilles is introduced thus speaking to Priam.

Nor thou, O father! thus consum'd with woe,
The common cares that nourish life forego.
Not thus did Niobe, of form divine,

A parent once whose sorrows equall'd thine:
Six youthful sons, as many blooming maids,
In one sad day beheld the Stygian shades;
These by Apollo's silver bow were slain,

ODE XXI.
SUMMER.

FILL, fill, sweet girls, the foaming bowl,
And let me gratify my soul:

1 faint with thirst-the heat of day
Has drank my very life away.

So was her pride chastis'd by wrath divine,
Who match'd her own with bright Latona's
line:

But two the goddess, twelve the queen enjoy'd;
Those boasted twelve th' avenging two destroy'd.
Steep'd in their blood, and in the dust outspread,
Nine days neglected lay expos'd the dead;
None by to weep them, to inhume them none,
(For Jove had turn'd the nation all to stone):
The gods themselves, at length relenting, gave
Th' unhappy race the honours of a grave.
Herself a rock (for such was Heaven's high will)
Through deserts wild now pours a weeping rill;
Where, round the bed whence Achelous springs,
The watry fairies dance in mazy rings,
There high on Sipylus's shaggy brow
She stands, her own sad monument of woe;
The rock for ever lasts, the tears for ever flow.

Pope.
There are two short epigrams in the Anthologia,
which perhaps the reader will be glad to see in
English.

Ο τύμβος έτος ενδον εκ έχει νεκρόν.
έτος εκτος εκ εχει τερον.

νεκρός

Αλλ' αυτός αυτό νεκρός εςι και ταφος.

This weeping tomb within no corse contains;
This weeping corse without a tomb remains:
For, by a strange irrevocable doom,
This image is the carcase and the tomb.
Εκ ζωής με θεοι τευξαν λιθόν εκ δε λίθοιο
Ζωην Πραξιτέλης εμπαλιν ειργασαίο.

I once was Niobe, and fill'd a throne,
Till Fate severe transform'd me into stone:
Behold the change which mimic art can give!
From stone Praxiteles has made me live.

I cannot conclude my notes on this ode without
first observing, that this gallant original has been
copied by several masters. I shall produce one ex-
gram of Dionysius the sophist.
ample, because it is the shortest, which is an epi-

Είθ' ανεμος γενόμην, συ δε γε τείχεσα παρ' αυγάς,
Στηθεα γυμνώσαις, και με τονεογία λαβοις.
Είθε ρόδον γενόμην υποπόρφυρον, οφρα με χερσιν
Αναμένη, κομίσαις ςήθεσι χιοντοις.
Είθε κρινον γενόμην λευκοχροον, ούρα με χερσιν
Αρμένη, μαλλον της χρονιας κορέσης.

I wish myself a gentle breeze to blow,
O'er your fair bosom unconfin'd I'd flow,
And wanton on those little hills of snow.
I wish myself a rose in purple drest,
That you might place me in your snowy breast,
I wish myself a lily, lovely fair,

That I might kiss your skin, and gather white-
ness there.

Ode XXI.-2. And let me gratify my soul:] The Greek is, win apus. Amystis, as Madame Dacier

Those Cynthia's arrows stretch'd upon the observes, was a manner of drinking among the

plain:

Thracians, so called from their swallowing down a

O! lead me to yon cooling bowers, And give me fresher wreaths of flowers; For those that now my temples shade, Scorch'd by my burning forehead, fade: But O! my heart, what can remove,

What wines, what shades, this heat of love? 10 These are all vain, alas! I find;

Love is the fever of the mind.

ODE XXII.

BY E. G. B. ESQ.

THE BOWER.

HERE, my Chloe, charming maid,
Here, beneath the genial shade,
Shielded from each ruder wind,
Lovely Chloe, lie reclin'd!
Lo! for thee the balmy breeze

Gently fans the waving trees!

Streams, that whisper through the grove,
Whisper low the voice of Love,

Sweetly bubbling wanton sport,
Where Persuasion holds her court.

Ye who pass th' enamell'd grove,
Through the rustling shade who rove,
Sure my bliss your breast must fire!
Can you sce, and not admire?

10

[blocks in formation]

9. But O! my heart, what can remove, &c.] The reflection the poet here makes is exceedingly natural, beautiful, and strong; "When love has once got possession of the heart, all exterior remedies will have no effect;" agreeably to the conclusion of the fourteenth ode:

All defence to folly turns,

When within the battle burns.

Ode XXII.-This ode is by Anacreon addressed to Bathyllus; but the translator has, with more decency and gallantry, applied it to a lady.

10. Where Persuasion holds her court.] The original is, geroa wales, a fountain rolling per

suasion, than which nothing can be more delicate or poetical, as most of the commentators have ob

served.

Longepierre quotes a beautiful epigram from the Anthologia, book 1, similar to this ode; where the god Pan is supposed to speak.

Έρχες και κατ' εμαν ίζων πιτυν, ε το μελιχρον
Προς μαλακας έχει κεκλιμένα ξεφυρες.
Ην δε και κρεμισμα μελιταγές, ενθα μελίσεων
Ἡδυν ερημαίοις ύπνον άγω καλάμοις.
Rest here beneath my shady pine reclin'd,
Whose tall top sweetly murmurs to the wind;
Here too a brook mellifluous flows along,
And woos me with its ever gurgling song;
Here on my solitary pipe I play,

Or sweetly sleep the tranquil hours away.

ODE XXIII.

THE VANITY OF RICHES.

IF the treasur'd gold could give
Man a longer term to live,
I'd employ my utmost care
Still to keep, and still to spare;

And, when Death approach'd, would say,
"Take thy fee, and walk away."
But since riches cannot save
Mortals from the gloomy grave,
Why should I myself deceive,
Vainly sigh, and vainly grieve?
Death will surely be my lot,
Whether I am rich or not.

Give me freely while I live
Generous wines, in plenty give
Soothing joys my life to cheer,
Beauty kind, and friends sincere;
Happy! could I ever find
Friends sincere, and beauty kind.

ODE XXIV.
ENJOYMENT.

SINCE I'm born a mortal man,
And my being's but a span;
'Tis a march that I must make;
'Tis a journey I must take:
What is past I know too well;
What is future who can tell?
Teasing Care, then set me free,
What have I to do with thee?
Ere I die, for die I must,
Ere this body turns to dust,
Every moment I'll employ
In sweet revelry and joy,

10

10

Ode XXIII. One cannot but be surprised at the wretched taste of Faber, who has rejected this ode as spurious and not Anacreon's, when perhaps it is not inferior in beauty to the best of them; as Barnes and Trapp have amply proved by explaining a Greek idiom, with which it is scarce worth while to trouble the English reader. 3, 4. I'd employ my utmost care

Still to keep, and still to spare ;] These words seem to allude to an anecdote in the history of Anacreon, which I shall explain. Sto

bæus tells us, that Anacreon, having received a

present of five talents of gold from Polycrates, tyrant of Samos, was so embarrassed with cares and solicitudes about his treasure, that he could not sleep for two nights successively: whereupon he sent back the present, with this apology to his patron, "That, however valuable the sum might be, it was not a sufficient price for the trouble and anxiety of keeping it."

Ode XXIV.-7. Teasing Care, then set me free,] Tibullus says,

Ite procul durum curæ genus, ite labores.

Hence all ye troubles vanish into air,
And all the wrinkled family of Care.

[ocr errors]
[blocks in formation]

Ode XXVI. This ode, as Longepierre observes, is in the same style as the two preceding, and the

ODE XXVII.

THE PRAISE OF BACCHUS. BACCHUS, Jove's delightful boy, Generous god of wine and joy, Still exbilarates my soul With the raptures of the bowl; Then with feather'd feet I bound, Dancing in a festive round; Then I feel, in sparkling wine, Transports delicate, divine;

remaining, which has great affinity to these four, but chiefly to this very bde.

Γλύκει ανάγκη σενόμενη κυλίκων
Θαλπησι θυμον Κυπρίδος"
Ελπις δ' αιθύσσει φρένας
Αναμιγνύμενα Διονυσίοισι δώροις
Ανδρασι δ' ύψοτατω

Πέμπει μερίμνας.
Αυτός μεν πολεων
Κρήδεμνον λύει,
Πασι δ' ανθρωποις
Μοναρχήσειν δοκει.
Χρυσῳ δ' ελέφαντι τε
Μαρμαίρεσιν οίκοι,
Πυροφόροι δε κατ' αιγληνία
Νηές αγεσιν απ' Αιγύπτο
Μέγισον πλετον,

Ως πίνοντος ὁρμαινε, κιας.

When the rosy bowl we drain,
Gentle Love begins to reign:
Hope, to human hearts benign,
Mingles in the friendly wine,
And with pleasing visions fair
Sweetly dissipates our care.
Warm with wine we win renown,
Conquer hosts, or storm a town,
Reign the mighty lords of all,
And in fancy rule the ball:
Then our villas charm the sight,
All with gold and ivory bright;
Ships with corn from Egypt come,
Bearing foreign treasures home:
Thus each bliss that fills the soul
Luxuriant rises from the bowl.

5, 6. Ivy-wreaths my temples shade,
Ivy that will never fade:]

Pastores hederâ crescentem ornate poetam.

[blocks in formation]

Dancing in a festive round;]

next ensuing. There is a fragment of Bacchylides In the forty-first ode Anacreon calls Bacchus, Tey

« PredošláPokračovať »