Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

In all the glow of epic fire,1

To Hercules I wake the lyre.2
But still its fainting sighs repeat,
"The tale of love alone is sweet!"
Then fare thee well, seductive dream,
That mad'st me follow Glory's theme;
For thou my lyre, and thou my heart,
Shall never more in spirit part;
And all that one has felt so well
The other shall as sweetly tell!

To man she gave, in that proud hour
The boon of intellectual power.*
Then, what, oh woman, what, for thee
Was left in Nature's treasury?

She gave thee beauty-mightier far
Than all the pomp and power of war."
Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power
Like woman in her conquering hour.
Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee,
Smile, and a world is weak before thee

ODE XXIV.3

To all that breathe the air of heaven,
Some boon of strength has Nature given.
In forming the majestic bull,

She fenced with wreathed horns his skull;
A hoof of strength she lent the steed,
And wing'd the timorous hare with speed.
She gave the lion fangs of terror,
And, o'er the ocean's crystal mirror,
Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng
To trace their liquid path along;
While for the umbrage of the grove,
She plumed the warbling world of love.

1 In all the glow of epic fire,

To Hercules I wake the lyre.] Madame Dacier generally translates Avpn into a lute, which I believe is inaccurate. "D'expliquer la lyre des anciens (says M. Sorel) par un luth, c'est ignorer la différence qu'il y a entre ces deux instrumens de musique."-Bibliothèque Françoise.

2 But still its fainting sighs repeat,

"The tale of love alone is sweet!"] The word avreḍwvetin the original, may imply that kind of musical dialogue practised by the ancients, in which the lyre was made to respond to the questions proposed by the singer. This was a method which Sappho used, as we are told by Hermogenes; "brav την λύραν έρωτα Σαπφώ, και όταν αυτή αποκρίνηται.”Περι Ιδεων, τομ. δευτ.

Henry Stephen has imitated the idea of this ode in the following lines of one of his poems:

Provida dat cunctis Natura animantibus arma,
Et sua fœmineum possidet arma genus,

Ungulâque ut defendit equum, atque ut cornua taurum,
Armata est formâ fœmina pulchra suâ.

ODE XXV.7

ONCE in each revolving year,
Gentle bird! we find thee here.
When Nature wears her summer-vest,
Thou com'st to weave thy simple nest;
But when the chilling winter lowers,
Again thou seek'st the genial bowers
Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile,
Where sunny hours forever smile.
And thus thy pinion rests and roves,-
Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves,
That brood within this hapless breast,

And never, never change their nest!

translate this ode, I had interpreted pornua, with B Barnes, as implying courage and military virtue; not think that the gallantry of the idea suffers by th which I have now given to it. For, why need we this possession of wisdom as exclusive? and in trut design of Anacreon is to estimate the treasure of above all the rest which Nature has distributed, it is even refining upon the delicacy of the compliment, the radiance of female charms to the cold illumin wisdom and prudence; and to think that women's the books, the academies, From whence doth spring the true Promethean 5 She gave thee beauty-mightier far

Than all the pomp and power of war.] Thus Ach tius :-καλλος οξυτερον τιτρώσκει βέλους, και δια τα μων εις την ψυχην καταρρει. Οφθαλμος γαρ όδος Tрavμari. "Beauty wounds more swiftly than th and passes through the eye to the very soul; for t the inlet to the wounds of love."

Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, Smile, and a world is weak before thee! Longe pie

And the same thought occurs in those lines, spoken by mark here is ingenious:-"The Romans," says he Corisca in Pastor Fido:

Cosi noi la bellezza

Ch' è vertu nostra cosi propria, come

La forza del leone,

E l'ingegno de l'huomo.

The lion boasts his savage powers,

And lordly man his strength of mind;
But beauty's charm is solely ours,
Peculiar boon, by Heav'n assign'd.

"An elegant explication of the beauties of this ode (says Degen) may be found in Grimm an den Anmerk. über einige Oden des Anakr."

4 To man she gave, in that proud hour,

The boon of intellectual power.] In my first attempt to

so convinced of the power of beauty, that they used implying strength in the place of the epithet beautift Plautus, act 2, scene 2. Bacchid.

Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa. 'Fortis, id est formosa,' say Servius and Nonius." 7 We have here another ode addressed to the s Alberti has imitated both in one poem, beginning Perch' io pianga al tuo canto, Rondinella importuna, &c.

8 Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves, That brood within this hapless breast,

And never, never change their nest!] Thus Love sented as a bird, in an epigram cited by Longepier the Anthologia :—

Still every year, and all the year,
They fix their fated dwelling here;
And some their infant plumage try,
And on a tender winglet fly;

While in the shell, impregn'd with fires,
Still lurk a thousand more desires;
Some from their tiny prisons peeping,
And some in formless embryo sleeping.
Thus peopled, like the vernal groves,
My breast resounds with warbling Loves;
One urchin imps the other's feather,
Then twin-desires they wing together,
And fast as they thus take their flight,
Still other urchins spring to light.
But is there then no kindly art,

To chase these Cupids from my heart?
Ah, no! I fear, in sadness fear,
They will forever nestle here!

Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed,
Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed;
No-'twas from eyes of liquid blue,
A host of quiver'd Cupids flew ;2
And now my heart all bleeding lies
Beneath that army of the eyes!

ODE XXVII.3

WE read the flying courser's name
Upon his side, in marks of flame;
And, by their turban'd brows alone,
The warriors of the East are known.
But in the lover's glowing eyes,
The inlet to his bosom lies;*

Through them we see the small faint mark,
Where Love has dropp'd his burning spark!

ODE XXVI.A

THY harp may sing of Troy's alarms,
Or tell the tale of Theban arms;
With other wars my song shall burn,
For other wounds my harp shall mourn.
"Twas not the crested warrior's dart,
That drank the current of my heart;

Διει μοι δύνει μεν εν ουασιν ήχος έρωτος,
Όμμα δε σιγα πόθοις το γλυκυ δακρυ φέρει.
Ουδ' ή νυξ, ου φεγγος εκοίμισεν, αλλ' ύπο φιλτρων
Ηδη που κραδίη γνωστος ενεστι τύπος.
Ω πτανοι, μη και ποτ' εφίπτασθαι μεν ερωτες
Οιδατ', αποπτηναι δ' ουθ' όσον ισχνετε.
Tis Love that murmurs in my breast,

And makes me shed the secret tear;
Nor day nor night my soul hath rest,
For night and day his voice I hear.

A wound within my heart I find,

And oh! 'tis plain where Love has been;
For still he leaves a wound behind,
Such as within my heart is seen.

Oh, bird of Love! with song so drear,

Make not my soul the nest of pain;
But, let the wing which brought thee here,
In pity waft thee hence again!

1 "The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. Compare also Weisse Scherz. Lieder, lib. iii., der Soldat." Gail, Degen. No-twas from eyes of liquid blue

A host of quiver'd Cupids flew ;] Longepierre has quoted part of an epigram from the seventh book of the Anthologia, which has a fancy something like this.

Ου με λέληθας,

Τοξοτα, Ζηνοφίλας όμμασι κρυπτομένος
Archer Love! though slyly creeping,
Well I know where thou dost lie;

I saw thee through the curtain peeping,
That fringes Zenophelia's eye.

The poets abound with conceits on the archery of the eyes,

ODE XXVIII.5

As, by his Lemnian forge's flame,
The husband of the Paphian dame
Moulded the glowing steel, to form
Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm;
And Venus, as he plied his art,

Shed honey round each new-made dart,

but few have turned the thought so naturally as Anacreon Ronsard gives to the eyes of his mistress "un petit camp d'amours."

* This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican MS., but I have conformed to the editions in translating them separately.

“Compare with this (says Degen) the poem of Ramler Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 313." 4 But in the lover's glowing eyes,

The inlet to his bosom lies;] "We cannot see into the heart," says Madame Dacier. But the lover answers

Il cor ne gli occhi et ne la fronte ho scritto.

M. La Fosse has given the following lines, as enlarging on the thought of Anacreon:

Lorsque je vois un amant,
Il cache en vain son tourment,
A le trahir tout conspire,
Sa langueur, son embarras,
Tout ce qu'il peut faire ou dire,
Même ce qu'il ne dit pas.

In vain the lover tries to veil

The flame that in his bosom lies;
His cheeks' confusion tells the tale,
We read it in his languid eyes:
And while his words the heart betray,
His silence speaks e'en more than they.

This ode is referred to by La Mothe le Vayer, who believe, was the author of that curious little work, called "Hexameron Rustique." He makes use of this, as well as the thirty-fifth, in his ingenious but indelicate explanation of Homer's Cave of the Nymphs.--Journée Quatrieme.

While Love, at hand, to finish all,
Tipp'd every arrow's point with gall ;'
It chanced the Lord of Battles came
To visit that deep cave of flame.
"Twas from the ranks of war he rush'd
His spear with many a life-drop blush'd;
He saw the fiery darts, and smiled
Contemptuous at the archer-child.
"What!" said the urchin, " dost thou smile?
Here, hold this little dart awhile,
And thou wilt find, though swift of flight,
My bolts are not so feathery light.”

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

ODE XXIX.

YES-loving is a painful thrill,
And not to love more painful still;2
But oh, it is the worst of pain,
To love and not be loved again!
Affection now has fled from earth,
Nor fire of genius, noble birth,
Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile
From beauty's cheek one favoring smile
Gold is the woman's only theme,
Gold is the woman's only dream.
Oh! never be that wretch forgiven-
Forgive him not, indignant heaven!
Whose grovelling eyes could first adore,
Whose heart could pant for sordid ore.
Since that devoted thirst began,
Man has forgot to feel for man;
The pulse of social life is dead,

And all its fonder feelings fled!

War too has sullied Nature's charms,
For gold provokes the world to arms:

Βραδιας τετηγμένοισι
Βελεεσι εξαγειρει.
Πυρι λαμπάδος φαείνω
Ρυπαρωτέρους καθαίρει.
Φιλέωμεν ουν, Ύεττε,
Φιλέωμεν ω έταιρε.
Αδίκως δε λοιδορούντι

'Αγιους έρωτας ήμων
Κακον εύξομαι το μουνον,
'Iva μη δύναιτ' εκεινος
Φιλέειν τε και φιλεῖσθαι.

Thou of tuneful bards the first,
Thou! by all the Graces nursed;
Friend! each other friend above,
Come with me, and learn to love.
Loving is a simple lore,
Graver men have learn'd before;
Nay, the boast of former ages,
Wisest of the wisest sages,
Sophroniscus' prudent son,
Was by love's illusion won.
Oh! how heavy life would move,
If we knew not how to love!
Love's a whetstone to the mind;
Thus 'tis pointed, thus refined.
When the soul dejected lies,
Love can waft it to the skies;
When in languor sleeps the heart,
Love can wake it with his dart;
When the mind is dull and dark,
Love can light it with his spark!
Come, oh come then, let us haste
All the bliss of love to taste;
Let us love both night and day,
Let us love our lives away!
And when hearts, from loving free,
(If indeed such hearts there be,)
Frown upon our gentle flame,
And the sweet delusion blame;
This shall be my only curse,
(Could I, could I wish them worse?)
May they ne'er the rapture prove,
Of the smile from lips we love!

[blocks in formation]

1 Barnes imagines from this allegory, that our poet married very late in life. But I see nothing in the ode which alludes to matrimony, except it be the lead upon the feet of Cupid; and I agree in the opinion of Madame Dacier, in her life of the poet, that he was always too fond of pleasure to marry.

* The design of this little fiction is to intimate, that much greater pain attends insensibility than can ever result from the tenderest impressions of love. Longepierre has quoted an ancient epigram which bears some similitude to this ode:Lecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis Carpebam, et somno lumina victa dabam; Cum me sævus Amor prensum, sursumque capillis Excitat, et lacerum pervigilare jubet.

Tu famulus meus, inquit, ames cum mille puellas,
Solus Io, solus, dure jacere potes?
Exilio et pedibus nudis, tunicaque soluta,
Omne iter impedio, nullum iter expedio.
Nune propero, nunc ire piget; rursumque redire
Pænitet; et pudor est stare via media.
Ecce tacept voces hominum, strepitusque ferarum,
Et volucrum cantus, turbaque fida canum.
Solus ego ex cunctis paveo somnumque torumque,
Et sequor imperium, sæve Cupido, tuum.
Upon my couch I lay, at night profound,
My languid eyes in magic slumber bound,
When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my bed,
And forced me many a weary way to tread.
"What! (said the god) shall you, whose vows are known,
Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone?"
I rise and follow; all the night I stray,
Unshester'd, trembling, doubtful of my way;
Tracing with naked foot the painful track,
Leath to proceed, yet fearful to go back.
Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd,
Nor warbling birds, nor lowing flocks are heard,
I, I alone, a fugitive from rest,

Passion my guide, and madness in my breast,
Wander the world around, unkne ving where,
The slave of love, the victim of despair!

ODE XXXI.2

ARM'D with yacinthine rod,
(Arms enough. for such a god,)
Cupid bade me wing my pace,
And try with his the rapid race.
O'er many a torrent, wild and deep,
By tangled brake and pendent steep,
With weary foot I panting flew,
Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew.'
And now my soul, exhausted, dying,
To my lip was faintly flying;
And now I thought the spark had fled,
When Cupid hover'd o'er my head,
And fanning light his breezy pinion,
Rescued my soul from death's dominion
Then said, in accents half-reproving,
"Why hast thou been a foe to loving?"

ODE XXXII.

STREW me a fragrant bed of leaves, Where lotus with the myrtle weaves;

Till my brow dropp'd with chilly dew.] I have followed those who read τειρεν ίδρως for πειρεν ύδρος; the former is partly authorized by the MS. which reads εipev idpws.

And now my soul, exhausted, dying,

To my lip was faintly flying; &c.] In the original, he says, his heart flew to his nose; but our manner more naturally transfers it to the lips. Such is the effect that Plato tells us he felt from a kiss, in a distich quoted by Aulus Gellius:

Την ψυχην, Αγαθωνα φίλων, επι χειλεσιν ἔσχον.
Ηλθε γαρ ἡ τλημων ὡς διαβησομενη.

Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip,

And drink thy breath, in trance divine,

My soul then flutters to my lip,

Ready to fly and mix with thine.

Aulus Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this epigram, in which we find a number of those mignardises of expression, which mark the effemination of the Latin language. And fanning light his breezy pinion, Rescued my

'soul from death's dominion;] "The facility with which Cupid recovers him, signifies that the sweets of love make us easily forget any solicitudes which he may occasion."-La Fosse.

We here have the poet, in his true attributes, reclining upon myrtles, with Cupid for his cupbearer. Some interpreters have ruined the picture by making Eows the name of his slave. None but Love should fill the goblet of Anacreon. Sappho, in one of her fragments, has assigned this office to Venus. Ελθε, Κυπρι, χρυσείαισιν εν κυλικεσσιν ἁβροις συμμε μιγμένον θαλιαισι νεκταρ οινοχουσα τουτοισι τοῖς ἑταίροις

έμοις γε και σοις.

Which may be thus paraphrased :—

Hither, Venus, queen of kisses,
This shall be the night of blisses;
This the night, to friendship dear,
Thou shalt be our Hebe here.
Fill the golden brimmer high,
Let it sparkle like thine eye;

And while in luxury's dream I sink,
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink!
In this sweet hour of revelry
Young Love shall my attendant be-
Dress'd for the task, with tunic round
His snowy neck and shoulders bound,
Himself shall hover by my side,
And minister the racy tide!

Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll,
Our life is hurrying to the goal:
A scanty dust, to feed the wind,
Is all the trace 'twill leave behind.
Then wherefore waste the rose's bloom
Upon the cold, insensate tomb?
Can flowery breeze, or odor's breath,
Affect the still, cold sense of death?
I ask no balm to steep

Oh no;
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep:
But now, while every pulse is glowing,
Now let me breathe the balsam flowing;
Now let the rose, with blush of fire,
Upon my brow in sweets expire;

And bring the nymph whose eye hath power
To brighten even death's cold hour.
Yes, Cupid! ere my shade retire,
To join the blest elysian choir,
With wine, and love, and social cheer,
I'll make my own elysium here!

ODE XXXIII.1

"Twas noon of night, when round the pole The sullen Bear is seen to roll; And mortals, wearied with the day, Are slumbering all their cares away: An infant, at that dreary hour, Came weeping to my silent bower, And waked me with a piteous prayer, To shield him from the midnight air. "And who art thou," I waking cry, "That bidd'st my blissful visions fly?""

Bid the rosy current gush,
Let it mantle like thy blush.
Goddess, hast thou e'er above
Seen a feast so rich in love?
Not a soul that is not mine!
Not a soul that is not thine!

"Compare with this ode (says the German commentator) the beautiful poem in Ramler's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 296, Amor als Diener.'"

M. Bernard, the author of L'Art d'aimer, has written a ballet called "Les Surprises de l'Amour," in which the subject of the third entrée is Anacreon, and the story of this

"Ah, gentle sire!" the infant said, "In pity take me to thy shed; Nor fear deceit: a lonely child I wander o'er the gloomy wild. Chill drops the rain, and not a ray Illumes the drear and misty way!"

I heard the baby's tale of wo; I heard the bitter night-winds blow; And sighing for his piteous fate, I trimm'd my lamp and oped the gat "Twas Love! the little wand'ring spr His pinion sparkled through the night I knew him by his bow and dart; I knew him by my fluttering heart. Fondly I take him in, and raise The dying embers' cheering blaze; Press from his dank and clinging hai The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and bosom hold His little fingers thrilling cold.

And now the embers' genial ray Had warm'd his anxious fears away "I pray thee," said the wanton child (My bosom trembled as he smiled,) "I pray thee let me try my bow, For through the rain I've wander'd s That much I fear the midnight show Has injured its elastic power." The fatal bow the urchin drew; Swift from the string the arrow flew As swiftly flew as glancing flame, And to my inmost spirit came! "Fare thee well," I heard him say, As laughing wild he wing'd away; "Fare thee well, for now I know The rain has not relax'd my bow; It still can send a thrilling dart, As thou shalt own with all thy hear

ode suggests one of the scenes.-Œuvres de Be scene 4th.

The German annotator refers us here to an Uz, lib. iii., "Amor und sein Bruder;" and Kleist, "die Heilung." La Fontaine has t rather imitated this ode.

2" And who art thou," I waking cry,

“That bidd'st my blissful visions fly ?”] Anac to have been a voluptuary even in dreaming, I regret which he expresses at being disturbed ionary enjoyments. See the odes x. and xxxvii.

'Troas Love! the little wand'ring sprite, & beautiful description of Cupid, by Moschus, in

« PredošláPokračovať »