In vats the heavenly load they lay,
And swift the damsels trip away:
The youths alone the wine-press tread,
For wine's by skilful drunkards made.
Mean-time the mirthful song they raise,
Jo! Bacchus, to thy praise!
And viewing the blest juice, in thought
Quaff an imaginary draught.

Gaily through wine the old advance,
And doubly tremble in the dance;
In fancy'd youth they chant and play,
Forgetful that their locks are grey.

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Through wine the youth completes his loves;
He haunts the silence of the groves:
Where stretch'd beneath th' embowering shade
He sees some love-inspiring maid;

On beds of rosy sweets she lies,
Inviting sleep to close her eyes:
Fast by her side his limbs he throws,

Her hand he presses-breathes his vows;
And cries," My love, iny soul, comply
This instant, or, alas! I die."

In vain the youth persuasion tries!
In vain!-her tongue at least denics:

Then, scorning death through dull despair,
He storms th' unwilling willing fair;
Blessing the grapes that could dispense
The happy, happy impudence.

ODE LIII.

BY DR. BROOME.

THE ROSE.

COME, lyrist, tune thy harp, and play
Responsive to my vocal lay;
Gently touch it, while I sing
The rose, the glory of the spring.

To Heaven the rose is fragrance flies,
The sweetest incense of the skies.
Thee, joy of Earth, when vernal hours
Pour forth a blooming waste of flowers,

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The gaily-smiling graces wear

A trophy in their flowing hair:

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Thee Venus, queen of beauty, loves,

And, crown'd with thee, more graceful moves.

In fabled song, and tuneful lays,

Their favourite rose the Muses praise:

To pluck the rose the virgin-train
With blood their pretty fingers stain;
Nor dread the pointed terrours round,
That threaten, and inflict a wound:
See! How they wave the charming toy,
Now kiss, now snuff the fragrant joy.

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The rose the poets strive to praise, And for it would exchange their bays; O! ever to the sprightly feast Admitted, welcome, pleasing guest! But chiefly when the goblet flows, And rosy wreaths adorn our brows! Lovely, smiling rose, how sweet All objects where thy beauties meet! Aurora, with a blushing ray, And rosy fingers, spreads the day: The Graces inore enchanting show, When rosy blushes paint their snow; And every pleas'd beholder seeks The rose in Cytherea's cheeks. When pain afflicts, or sickness grieves, Its juice the drooping heart relieves; And, after death, its odours shed A pleasing fragrance o'er the dead: And when its withering charms decay, And sinking, fading, die away, Triumphant o'er the rage of time, It keeps the fragrance of its prime.

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21. The rose the poets strive to praise] The rose is celebrated in the fifth ode of Anacreon; io a fragment of Sappho; and in the fourteenth Idyllium of Ausonius, in which are the following beautiful lines:

Quàm longa una dies, ætas tam longa rosarum,
Quas pubescentes longa senecta premit:
Quam modo nascentem rutilus conspexit Eous,
Hanc veniens sero vespere vidit anum.

See! in the morning blooms the rose !
But soon her transient glories close:
She opens with the rising day,
And with the setting fades away.

Duncombe.

30. And rosy fingers, spreads the day] PododexTukos, rosy finger'd, is an epithet frequently used by Homer, and applied to the morning. Dryden. also uses it:

The rosy-finger'd Morn appears,

And from her mantle shakes her tears.

Milton's description of the morning is also very beautiful:

-The Morn,

Wak'd by the circling Hours, with rosy hand
Unbarr'd the gates of light-
B. 6. v. 2.

35. When pain afflicts, or sickness grieves] It is well known, that the rose is used as an ingredient in the composition of several medicines, 37. And, after death, its odours shed

A pleasing fragrance o'er the dead.] The ancients used roses in embalming their dead. Venus anoints the body of Hector with unguent of roses, to prevent it from corruption, Iliad, book 23.

Celestial Venus hover'd o'er his head,
And roseate unguents, heavenly fragrance! shed.
Pope.

They also crowned the tombs of their friends with roses and other flowers.

41. Triumphant o'er the rage of time, &c.]

Come, lyrist, join to sing the birth Of this sweet offspring of the Earth! When Venus from the ocean's bed Rais'd o'er the waves her lovely head; When warlike Pallas sprung from Jove, Tremendous to the powers above; To grace the world the teeming Earth Gave the fragrant infant birth; And, "This," she cry'd, "I this ordain My favourite, queen of flowers to reign." But, first, th' assembled gods debate The future wonder to create:

Agreed at length, from Heaven they threw

A drop of rich nectareous dew;

A bramble-stem the drop receives,

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And straight the rose adorns the leaves.

The gods to Bacchus gave the flower, To grace him in the genial hour.

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ODE LIV.

BY DR. BROOME.

GROWN YOUNG.

WHEN sprightly youths my eyes survey,
I too am young, and I am gay;
In dance my active body swims,
And sudden pinions lift my limbs.

Haste, crown, Cybeba, crown my brows
With garlands of the fragrant rose!
Hence, hoary age!-I now am young,
And dance the mirthful youths among.

Come then, my friends, the goblet drain! Blest juice!-I feel thee in each vein! See! how with active bounds I spring! How strong, and yet how sweet I sing! How blest am I, who thus excel In pleasing arts of trifling well!

ODE LV.

BY DR. BROOME.

THE MARK.

THE stately steed expressive bears A mark imprinted on his hairs:

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The turban, that adorns the brows
Of Asia's sons, the Parthian shows:
And marks betray the lover's heart,
Deeply engrav'd by Cupid's dart:
I plainly read them in his eyes,
That look too foolish, or too wise.

ODE LVI.

BY DR. BROOME,

OLD AGE.

ALAS! the powers of life decay!
My hairs are fall'n, or turn'd to grey:
The smiling bloom, and youthful grace,
Is banish'd from my faded face:
Thus man bel:oids, with weeping eyes,
Himself half-dead before he dies.

Ode LV.-3, 4. The turban that adorns the [shows.]

brows

Of Asia's sons, the Parthian

The Greek is riga, tiara, an ornament for the bead like the modern turban. Addison quotes a passage from Dionysius, containing a description of the situation and manners of the Parthians; which he has thus translated:

Beyond the Caspian straits those realms extend,
Where circling bows the martial Parthians bend.
Vers'd only in the rougher arts of war,

No fields they wound, nor urge the shining share.
No ships they boast to stem the rolling tide,
Nor lowing herds o'er flowery meadows guide:
But infants wing the feather'd shaft for flight,
And rein the fiery steed with fond delight.
On every plain the whistling spear alarms,
The neighing courser, and the clang of arms;
For there no food the little heroes taste,
Till warlike sweat has earn'd the short repast.

Ode LVI. We are indebted for this ode to Henry Stephens. It is also extant in Stobæus, who acknowledges it to be Anacreon's. 1, 2. Alas! the powers of life decay!

My hairs are fali'n, or turn'd to grey.] Theocritus finally touches upon the progress which old-age makes on the human body.

For this, and for the grave, I fear,
And pour the never-ceasing tear:
A dreadful prospect strikes the eye,
I soon must sicken, soon must die.

For this, the mournful groan I shed,
I dread-alas! the hour I dread!
What eye can stedfastly survey
Death, and its dark tremendous way?
For soon as fate has clos'd our eyes,
Man dies for ever, ever dies! -
All pale, all senseless in the urn!
Never, ah! never to return.

ODE LVII.

THAT WE SHOULD DRINK WITH
MODERATION.

BRING hither, boy, a mighty bowl,
And let me quench my thirsty soul;
Fill two parts water, fill it high,
Add one of wine, for I am dry:
Thus let the limpid stream allay
The jolly god's too potent sway.

Quick, boy, dispatch-My friends, no more,
Thus let us drinking rant and roar;
Such clamorous riot better suits
Unpolish'd Scythia's barbarous brutes:
Let us, while music tunes the soul,
Mix temperance in the friendly bowl.

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ODE LIX.

TO A SCORNFUL BEAUTY. WHY thus with scornful look you fly, Wild Thracian filly, tell me why? Think'st thou that I no skill possess, And want both courage and address? Know, that whenever I think fit To tame thee with the galling bit, Just where I please, with tighten'd rein, I'll urge thee round the dusty plain. Now on the flowery turf you feed, Or lightly bound along the mead,

So wild, so wanton, and untry'd,

You want some youth to mount and ride.

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ODE LVIII.

THE LOVE-DRAUGHT.

As late of flow'rets fresh and fair
I wove a chaplet for my hair,

14. Death, and its dark tremendous way] Catullus, speaking of Lesbia's sparrow, says,

Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum,
Illuc unde negant ridire quenquam,

Death has summon'd it to go,
Pensive, to the shades below;
Dismal regions! from whose bourne,
Alas! no travellers return.

See also Moschus on the death of Bion:

But we, the great, the brave, the learn'd, the wise,
Soon as the hand of Death has clos'd our eyes,
In tombs forgotten lie, no suns restore,
We sleep, for ever sleep, to wake no more.

Ode LVII.-3. Fill two parts water] The ancients usually drank their wine mixed with water. Madam Dacier observes, that Hesiod prescribes three measures of water to one of wine in summer. 10. Unpolish'd Scythia's barbarous brutes] The Scythians were remarkable for their intemperance in drinking, and quarrelling over their cups.

Ode LVIII. This little ode is extant in the seventh book of the Anthologia, and ascribed to Julian, ɑno twv únпgxwv A‹yʊnт8, a king of Egypt, who wrote several other things with elegance. As its beauty has hitherto procured it a place in most of the editions of Anacreon, it was thought worthy to be retained in this translation.

ODE LX.

EPITHALAMIUM ON THE MARRIAGE OF STRATOCLES AND MYRILLA.

VENUS, fair queen of gods above, -
Cupid, thou mighty power of love,
And Hymen bland, by Heaven design'd
The fruitful source of human-kind:

To you, as to the lyre I sing,

Flows honour from the sounding string; Propitious to the numbers prove,

O Venus, Hymen, god of love.

Ode LIX.-9, 10. Now on the flowery turf you

feed, [mead] Or lightly bound along the Horace has imitated this ode at the beginning of the 23d ode of the first book, the 5th of the second, but particularly in the 11th of the third.

Quæ, velut latis equa trima campis
Ludit exultim, metuitque tangi,
Nuptiarum expers, et adhuc protervo
Cruda marito.

She sports along the verdant plain,
Like a fleet filly, shuns the rein,
Fears to be touch'd; nor yet will prove,
Wild and untry'd, the pleasing pains of love.
Duncombe,

Ode LX.-Theodorus Prodromus, who wrote the amours of Dosicles and Rhodanthe, has preserved this Epithalamium; which, as madam Dacier observes, is a sort of poem that used to be sung to a new-married couple on the morning after the ceremony.

4. The fruitful source of human-kind] Dionysius of Halicarnassus calls marriage, Zwangian Tys, The preserver of mankind,

View, gentle youth, with rapture view
This blooming bride ordain'd for you:
Rise quick, and feast on all her charms,
Lest, like a bird, she fly your arms.
O happy youth! by Venus blest,
But happier on Myrilla's breast:
"See how the fair-one, sweetly coy,
All soft confusion, meets the joy,
Blooming as health, fresh as May-flowers,
And bright as radiant noon-tide hours."
Of all the flowers upon the plains,
The rose unmatch'd in beauty reigns;
Myrilla thus in charms excels,
She shines the rose among the belles.
O may, blest youth, the god of day
The pleasing toils of love survey:
And may a beauteous, blooming boy
Crown your soft vows with lasting joy!

ODE LXI.

ON GOLD.

WHEN Gold, that fugitive unkind," :
With pinions swifter than the wind,
Flies from my willing arms away,
(For gold with me will never stay)
With careless eyes his flight I view,
Who would perfidious foes pursue?
When from the glittering mischief free,
What mortal can compare with me!
All my inquietudes of mind
I give to murmur with the wind:
Love sweetly tunes my melting lyre
To tender notes of soft desire.

But when the vagrant finds I burn
With rage, and slight him in his turn,
He comes, my quiet to destroy,
With the mad family of Joy:
Adieu to love, and soft desire!
He steals me from my soothing lyre.

O faithless Gold! thou dear deceit!
Say, wilt thou still my fancy cheat?
This lute far sweeter transport brings,
More pleasing these love-warbled strings:

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For thou with envy and with wiles
Me of my dearest love beguiles,
Dashing the cup of sweet desire,
And robb'st me of my golden lyre.
Then, for with me thou wilt not stay,
To faithless Phrygians speed'st away,
Proud and assiduous to please
Those sons of perfidy and ease.

Me from the Muse thou would'st detain,
But all thy tempting arts are vain;
Ne'er shall my voice forget to sing,
Nor this right hand to touch the string:
Away to other climes! farewell!-
Leave me to tune the vocal shell.

ODE LXII.

ON THE SPRING.

WHAT bright joy can this exceed,
This of roving o'er the mead?
Where the hand of Flora pours,
Sweetest, voluntary flow'rs:
Where the Zephyr's balmy gale
Wantons in the lovely vale.
O! how pleasing to recline
Underneath the spreading vine,
In the close concealment laid
With a love-inspiring maid!
Fair, and sweet, and young, and gay,
Chatting all the live-long day.

ODE LXIII.

TO CUPID.

MIGHTY god of flames and darts, Great controler of all hearts; With thee Venus, lovely fair, Venus with the golden hair,

And the bright-ey'd Dryads play,

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Nymphs that on the mountains stray: Come, propitious to my vow,

Quick descend into the plain,

12. Lest, like a bird, &c.] The Greek is My Quyn wagding aypa, Lest the partridge should escape you; alluding to the coyness of a young bride.

15. See how, &c.] These four lines are taken from a translation of this poem, which, appeared in the Student.

25. May a beauteous blooming boy, &c.] The Greek is, KunagiTOS WEDURA DEL EN xw, May a cypress grow in your garden! that is, "May a child, as beautiful and as long lived as a cypress, crown your happiness!" Madam Dacier observes, this was a proverbial way of speaking.

Ode LXI.-The Vatican manuscript acknow_ ledges this ode to be Anacreon's.

9, 10. All my inquietudes of mind

I give to murmur with the wind.]

Horace has imitated this passage, book 1. ode 26. which is an argument for the authenticity of this ode. See Ode 39.

Let the winds that murmur, sweep
All my sorrows to the deep.

Leave the mountain's rugged brow;

Where the object of my pain,
Sweet Eurypyle imparts
Anxious hopes to youthful hearts;
Melt to love the yielding fair,
Teach her not to give despair;

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28. To faithless Phrygians, &c.] The poet calls the Phrygians faithless, from their king Laomedon's deceiving Apollo and Neptune of the reward he had promised them for building the walls of Troy; and from his defrauding Hercules of his recompense, who had delivered his daughter Hesione from being devoured by a sea-monster.

Madame Dacier. Ode LXII. This ode has also the authority of the Vatican manuscript to claim Anacreon for its author.

7, 8. O! how pleasing to recline

Underneath the spreading vine.] Madame Dacier remarks, that the vines in Greece were so high as to form a commodious shade.

Ode LXIII-We owe the preservation of this fragment to Dion Chrysostom,

Thou my passion must approve, Melt the yielding fair to love.

ODE LXIV.

TO CUPID.

IDALIAN god, with golden hair,
O Cupid, ever young and fair,
Fly to my aid, and safely shroud
Me in a purple-beaming cloud,
And on thy painted wings convey
A faithful lover on his way.
Thy blandishments disturb my rest,
And kindle tumults in my breast;
The pleasing poison was convey'd
Late from the lovely Lesbian maid;
Her sun-bright eye discharg'd a dart,
That rankling preys upon my heart:
In sparkling wit beyond compare,
She slights, alas! my silver hair,
Regardless of my heart-felt pain,
And fondly loves some happier swain.

ODE LXV.

ON HIMSELF.

I LATELY thought, delightful theme! Anacreon saw me in a dream,

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Ye Muses, ever fair and young,

High seated on the golden throne,
Anacreon sent to me a song

In sweetest numbers, not his own;
For, by your sacred raptures fir'd,
The poet warbled what the Muse inspir'd.

Ode LXV. This and the five following odes are not translated by Addison.

Some have imagined that this ode was not written by Anacreon, because he himself is the subject of it: but Barnes endeavours to prove it genuine from the ninth ode and the sixty-sixth, in both which Anacreon makes mention of himself; and from the frequent liberties which the best poets have taken of mentioning themselves in their own compositions.

The Teian sage, the honey'd bard, Who call'd me with a sweet regard: 1, pleas'd to meet him, ran in haste, And with a friendly kiss embrac'd.

'Tis true, he seem'd a little old, But gay and comely to behold; Still bow'd to Cytherea's shrine, His lip was redolent of wine: He reel'd as if he scarce could stand, But Cupid led him by the hand.

The poet, with a gentle look, A chaplet from his temples took, That did of sweet Anacreon breathe, And smiling gave to me the wreath. I from his brow the flowery crown Receiv'd, and plac'd it on my own: Thence all my woes unnumber'd flow, E'er since with raging love I glow.

ODE LXVI.

BY DR. BROOME.

ON APOLLO.

ONCE more, not uninspir'd, the string

I waken and spontaneous sing:
No Pythic laurel-wreath I claim,
That lifts ambition into fame:
My voice unbidden tunes the lay;
Some god impels and I obey.
Attend, ye groves! the Muse prepares
A sacred song in Phrygian airs;
Such as the swan expiring sings,
Melodious, by Cayster's springs,
Where listening winds in silence hear,
And to the gods the music bear.

Celestial Muse! attend and bring
Thy aid, while I thy Phoebus sing;
To Phoebus and the Muse belong
The laurel, lyre, and Delphie song.

Begin, begin the lofty strain! How Phoebus lov'd, but lov'd in vain! How Daphne fled his guilty flame, And scorn'd a god that offer'd shaine. With glorious pride his vows she hears, And Heaven, indulgent to her prayers, To laurel chang'd the nymph, and gave Her foliage to reward the brave.

Ah! how, on wings of love convey'd, He flew to clasp the panting maid! Now, now o'ertakes! but Heaven deceives His hope-he seizes only leaves.

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Why burns my raptur'd breast? ah why? Ah! whither strives my soul to fly?

I feel the pleasing frenzy strong,
Impulsive to some nobler song:
Let, let the wanton fancy play,
But guide it, lest it devious stray.

But O! in vain-my Muse denies
Her aid, a slave to lovely eyes;
Suffice it to rehearse the pains
Of bleeding nymphs and dying swains;

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Ode LXVI.-It is certain, that Anacreon wrote hymns in honour of the gods: this is undoubtedly one of them, and perhaps the most entire of any that remain. See the note on the 16th verse of the ninth ode,