* Preserves the cold inurned clay, &c.] He here alludes to the use of the rose in embalming; and, perhaps (as Barnes thinks), to the rosy unguent with which Venus anointed the corpse of Hector. - Homer's Iliad. It may likewise regard the ancient practice of putting garlands of roses on the dead, as in Statius, Theb. lib. x. 782.

hi sertis, hi veris honore soluto

Accumulant artus, patriâque in sede reponunt
Corpus odoratum.

Where "veris honor," though it mean every kind of flowers, may seem more particularly to refer to the rose, which our poet in another ode calls inges unua. We read, in the Hieroglyphics of Pierius, lib. lv. that some of the ancients used to order in their wills, that roses should be annually scattered on their tombs, and Pierius has adduced some sepulchral inscriptions to this purpose.

* And mocks the vestige of decay :] When he says that this flower prevails over time itself, he still alludes to its efficacy in embalment (tenerà poneret ossa rosâ. Propert. lib. i. eleg. 17.), or perhaps to the subsequent idea of its fragrance surviving its beauty; for he can scarcely mean to praise for duration the "nimium breves flores" of the rose. Philostratus compares this flower with love, and says, that they both defy the influence of time; xgovor de cure Egws, oute poda aider. Unfortunately the similitude lies not in their duration, but

When, humid, from the silvery stream,
Effusing beauty's warmest beam,
Venus appear'd, in flushing hues,
Mellow'd by ocean's briny dews;
When, in the starry courts above,
The pregnant brain of mighty Jove
Disclos'd the nymph of azure glance,
The nymph who shakes the martial lance ;-
Then, then, in strange eventful hour,
The earth produc'd an infant flower,
Which sprung, in blushing glories drest,
And wanton'd o'er its parent breast.
The gods beheld this brilliant birth,
And hail'd the Rose, the boon of earth!
With nectar drops, a ruby tide,
The sweetly orient buds they dyed, 5
And bade them bloom, the flowers divine
Of him who gave the glorious vine;
And bade them on the spangled thorn
Expand their bosoms to the morn.

ODE LV1.6

HE, who instructs the youthful crew To bathe them in the brimmer's dew,

Ambrosium late rosa tunc quoque spargit odorem,
Cum fluit, aut multo languida sole jacet.
Nor then the rose its odour loses,

When all its flushing beauties die;
Nor less ambrosial balm diffuses,
When wither'd by the solar eye.

5 With nectar drops, a ruby tide,

The sweetly orient buds they dyed, &c.] The author of the "Pervigilium Veneris" (a poem attributed to Catullus, the style of which appears to me to have all the laboured luxuriance of a much later period) ascribes the tincture of

the rose to the blood from the wound of Adonis

their transience.

4 Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath

bration of this kind.

And, in a flight of fancy, high

-

And taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses,
All the bliss that wine possesses;
He, who inspires the youth to bound
Elastic through the dance's round, —
Bacchus, the god again is here,
And leads along the blushing year;
The blushing year with vintage teems,
Ready to shed those cordial streams,
Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth,
Illuminate the sons of earth!!

Then, when the ripe and vermil wine,-
Blest infant of the pregnant vine,
Which now in mellow clusters swells,-
Oh! when it bursts its roseate cells,
Brightly the joyous stream shall flow,
To balsam every mortal woe!

None shall be then cast down or weak,
For health and joy shall light each cheek;
No heart will then desponding sigh,
For wine shall bid despondence fly.
Thus till another autumn's glow

Shall bid another vintage flow.

ODE LVII.2

WHOSE was the artist hand that spread Upon this disk the ocean's bed? 3

1 Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth,

Illuminate the sons of earth!] In the original seres arreyoga. Madame Dacier thinks that the poet here had the nepenthe of Homer in his mind. Odyssey, lib. iv. This nepenthe was a something of exquisite charm, infused by Helen into the wine of her guests, which had the power of dispelling every anxiety. A French writer, De Meré, con- | jectures that this spell, which made the bowl so beguiling, was the charm of Helen's conversation. See Bayle, art. Helène.

? This ode is a very animated description of a picture of Venus on a discus, which represented the goddess in her first emergence from the waves. About two centuries after our poct wrote, the pencil of the artist Apelles embellished this subject, in his famous painting of the Venus Anadyomené, the model of which, as Pliny informs us, was the beautiful Campaspe, given to him by Alexander; though, according to Natalis Comes, lib. vii. cap. 16, it was Phryne who sat to Apelles for the face and breast of this Venus.

There are a few blemishes in the reading of the ode before us, which have influenced Faber, Heyne, Brunck. &c. to denounce the whole poem as spurious. But, non ego paueis offendar maculis." I think it is quite beautiful enough to be authentic.

3 Whose was the artist hand that spread

Upom this desk the ocean's bed?) The abruptness of aça THE TIDES TOUT is finely expressive of sudden admiration. and is one of those beauties which we cannot but admire in their source, though, by frequent imitation, they are now become familiar and unimpress.ve.

As aught on earthly wing can fly,
Depicted thus, in semblance warm,
The Queen of Love's voluptuous form
Floating along the silv'ry sea

In beauty's naked majesty!

Oh! he hath given th' enamour'd sight
A witching banquet of delight,

Where, gleaming through the waters clear,
Glimpses of undreamt charms appear,
And all that mystery loves to screen,
Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen. +

Light as the leaf, that on the breeze,
Of summer skims the glassy seas,
She floats along the ocean's breast,
Which undulates in sleepy rest;
While stealing on, she gently pillows
Her bosom on the heaving billows.
Her bosom, like the dew-wash'd rose, 5
Her neck, like April's sparkling snows,
Illume the liquid path she traces,
And burn within the stream's embraces.
Thus on she moves, in languid pride,
Encircled by the azure tide,

As some fair lily o'er a bed
of violets bends its graceful head.

Beneath their queen's inspiring glance,
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance,
Bearing in triumph young Desire, 6
And infant Love with smiles of fire!

And all that mystery loves to screen,

Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen, &c.] The picture here has all the delicate character of the semi-reducta Venus, and affords a happy specimen of what the poetry of passion ought to be-glowing but through a veil, and stealing upon the heart from concealment. Few of the ancients have attained this modesty of description, which, like the golden cloud that hung over Jupiter and Juno, is impervious to every beam but that of fancy.

Her bosom, like the dew-wash'd rose. &c.] “Podian (says an anonymous annotator) is a whimsical epithet for the bosom." Neither Catullus nor Gray have been of his opinion. The former has the expression,

While, glittering through the silver waves,
The tenants of the briny caves
Around the pomp their gambols play,
And gleam along the watery way.

ODE LVIII.

WHEN Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion,
Escapes like any faithless minion, 2
And flies me (as he flies me ever), 3
Do I pursue him? never, never!
No, let the false deserter go,

For who could court his direst foe?
But, when I feel my lighten'd mind
No more by grovelling gold confin'd,
Then loose I all such clinging cares,
And cast them to the vagrant airs.
Then feel I, too, the Muse's spell,
And wake to life the dulcet shell,
Which, rous'd once more, to beauty sings,
While love dissolves along the strings!

But scarcely has my heart been taught How little Gold deserves a thought, When, lo! the slave returns once more, And with him wafts delicious store

Of racy wine, whose genial art
In slumber seals the anxious heart.

Again he tries my soul to sever

From love and song, perhaps for ever!

! I have followed Barnes's arrangement of this ode, which, though deviating somewhat from the Vatican MS., appears to me the more natural order.

When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion,

Escapes like any faithless minion, &c.] In the original Ο δραπέτης ὁ χρυσος. There is a kind of pun in these words, as Madame Dacier has already remarked; for Chrysos, which signifies gold, was also a frequent name for a slave. In one of Lucian's dialogues, there is, I think, a similar play upon the word, where the followers of Chrysippus are called golden fishes. The puns of the ancients are, in general, even more vapid than our own; some of the best are those recorded of Diogenes.

3 And flies me (as he flies me ever,) &c.] Aus d', as μe qev 7. This grace of iteration has already been taken notice of. Though sometimes merely a playful beauty, it is peculiarly expressive of impassioned sentiment, and we may eastly believe that it was one of the many sources of that energetic sensibility which breathed through the style of Sappho. See Gyrald. Vet. Poet. Dial. 9. It will not be said that this is a mechanical ornament by any one who can feel its charm in those lines of Catullus, where he complains of the infidelity of his mistress, Lesbia:

Cœli, Lesbia nostra, Lesbia illa,
Illa Lesbia, quam Catullus unam,
Plus quam se atque suos amavit omnes,
Nunc, &c.

Away, deceiver! why pursuing Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing? Sweet is the song of amorous fire, Sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre; Oh! sweeter far than all the gold Thy wings can waft, thy mines can hold. Well do I know thy arts, thy wiles

They wither'd Love's young wreathed smiles;
And o'er his lyre such darkness shed,
I thought its soul of song was fled!
They dash'd the wine-cup, that, by him,
Was fill'd with kisses to the brim. 4
Go-fly to haunts of sordid men,
But come not near the bard again.
Thy glitter in the Muse's shade,
Scares from her bower the tuneful maid;
And not for worlds would I forego
That moment of poetic glow,

When my full soul, in Fancy's stream,
Pours o'er the lyre its swelling theme.
Away, away! to worldlings hence,
Who feel not this diviner sense;
Give gold to those who love that pest,
But leave the poet poor and blest.

ODE LIX.5

RIPEN'D by the solar beam,
Now the ruddy clusters teem,
In osier baskets borne along
By all the festal vintage throng

Si sic omnia dixisset! - but the rest does not bear citation.

4 They dash'd the wine-cup, that, by him,
Was fill'd with kisses to the brim.] Original:-

Φιλημάτων δε κεδνων,

Πεθων κυπελλα κίρνης.

Horace has "Desiderique temperare poculum," not figuratively, however, like Anacreon, but importing the lovephiltres of the witches. By "cups of kisses" our poet may allude to a favourite gallantry among the ancients, of drinking when the lips of their mistresses had touched the brim :

"Or leave a kiss within the cup,

And I'll not ask for wine."

As in Ben Jonson's translation from Philostratus; and Lucian has a conceit upon the same idea, “Ίνα και τινες άμα nas cians," " that you may at once both drink and kiss."

5 The title Επιληνιος ύμνος, which Barnes has given to this ode, is by no means appropriate. We have already had one of those hymns (ode 56.), but this is a description of the vintage; and the title us ovey, which it bears in the Vatican MS., is more correct than any that have been suggested.

Degen, in the true spirit of literary scepticism, doubts that this ode is genuine, without assigning any reason for such a suspicion;" non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare." But this is far from being satisfactory criticism.

Of rosy youths and virgins fair,
Ripe as the melting 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 charm'd and echoing air.
Mark, how they drink, with all their eyes,
The orient tide that sparkling flies,
The infant Bacchus, born in mirth,
While Love stands by, to hail the birth.

When he, whose verging years decline
As deep into the vale as mine,
When he inhales the vintage-cup,
His feet, new-wing'd from earth spring up,
And as he dances, the fresh air

Plays whispering through his silvery hair.
Meanwhile young groups whom love invites,
To joys ev'n rivalling wine's delights,
Seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove,
And there, in words and looks of love,
Such as fond lovers look and say,
Pass the sweet moonlight hours away. I

ODE LX.2

AWAKE to life, my sleeping shell,
To Phœbus let thy numbers swell;
And though no glorious prize be thine,
No Pythian wreath around thee twine,
Yet every hour is glory's hour
To him who gathers wisdom's flower.
Then wake thee from thy voiceless slumbers,
And to the soft and Phrygian numbers,

Which, tremblingly, my lips repeat, Send echoes from thy chord as sweet. 'Tis thus the swan, with fading notes, Down the Cayster's current floats, While amorous breezes linger round, And sigh responsive sound for sound.

Muse of the Lyre! illume my dream, Thy Phœbus is my fancy's theme; And hallow'd is the harp I bear, And hallow'd is the wreath I wear, Hallow'd by him, the god of lays, Who modulates the choral maze. I sing the love which Daphne twin'd Around the godhead's yielding mind; I sing the blushing Daphne's flight From this ethereal son of Light; And how the tender, timid maid Flew trembling to the kindly shade, 3 Resign'd a form, alas, too fair, And grew a verdant laurel there; Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill, In terror seem'd to tremble still! The god pursu'd, with wing'd desire ; And when his hopes were all on fire, And when to clasp the nymph he thought, A lifeless tree was all he caught;

And, stead of sighs that pleasure heaves, Heard but the west-wind in the leaves!

But, pause, my soul, no more, no more — Enthusiast, whither do I soar? This sweetly-mad'ning dream of soul Hath hurried me beyond the goal. Why should I sing the mighty darts Which fly to wound celestial hearts, When ah, the song, with sweeter tone, Can tell the darts that wound my own? Still be Anacreon, still inspire The descant of the Teian lyre: 4

1 Those well acquainted with the original need hardly be reminded that, in these few concluding verses, I have thought right to give only the general meaning of my author, leaving the details untouched.

This hymn to Apollo is supposed not to have been written by Anacreon; and it is undoubtedly rather a sublimer flight than the Teian wing is accustomed to soar. But, in a poet of whose works so small a proportion has reached us, diversity of style is by no means a safe criterion. If we knew Horace but as a satirist, should we easily believe there could dwell such animation in his lyre? Suidas says that our poet wrote hymns, and this perhaps is one of them. We can perceive in what an altered and imperfect state his works are at present, when we find a scholiast upon Horace citing an ode from the third book of Anacreon.

3 And how the tender, timid maid

Flew trembling to the kindly shade, &c.] Original: —

Το μεν εκπέφευγε κέντρον, Φύσεως δ' αμειψε μορφήν.

I find the word zvrgov here has a double force, as it also signifies that" omnium parentem, quam sanctus Numa, &c. &c." (See Martial.) In order to confirm this import of the word here, those who are curious in new readings, may place

the stop after queas, thus:

Το μεν εκπεφευγε κέντρον
Φύσεως, δ' αμείψε μορφήν.

4 Still be Anacreon, still inspire

The descant of the Teian iyre:] The original is Toy Avaκρέοντα μίμου. I have translated it under the supposition that the hymn is by Anacreon; though, I fear, from this very line, that his claim to it can scarcely be supported.

Tov Avaxgiorta suo, "Imitate Anacreon." Such is the lesson given us by the lyrist; and if, in poetry, a simple clegance of sentiment, enriched by the most playful felicities of

fancy, be a charm which invites or deserves imitation, where shall we find such a guide as Anacreon? In morality, too, with some little reserve, we need not blush, I think, to follow in his footsteps. For, if his song be the language of his heart, though luxurious and relaxed, he was artless and benevolent and who would not forgive a few irregularities, when atoned for by virtues so rare and so endearing? When we think of the sentiment in those lines:

Away! I hate the sland'rous dart,

Which steals to wound th' unwary heart, how many are there in the world, to whom we would wish to 345. Τον Ανακρέοντα μίμου !

1 Here ends the last of the odes in the Vatican MS., whose authority helps to confirm the genuine antiquity of them all, though a few have stolen among the number, which we may besitate in attributing to Anacreon. In the little essay prefixed to this translation, I observed that Barnes has quoted this manuscript incorrectly, relying upon an imperfect copy of it, which Isaac Vossius had taken. I shall just mention two or three instances of this inaccuracy-the first which occur to me. In the ode of the Dove, on the words IIrigars

zar, he says, "Vatican MS. uri, etiam Prisciano invito:" but the MS. reads zahva, with ovexiaow interlined. Degen too, on the same line, is somewhat in error. In the twenty-second ode of this series, line thirteenth, the MS. has rug with a interlined, and Barnes imputes to it the reading of rvon. In the fifty-seventh, line twelfth, he professes to have preserved the reading of the 15. Αλαλημένη δ' επ' αυτή, while the latter has αλαλημένος | erra. Almost all the other annotators have transplanted these errors from Barnes.

* The intrusion of this melancholy ode, among the careless levities of our poet, reminds us of the skeletons which the Egyptians used to hang up in their banquet-rooms, to inculcate a thought of mortality even amidst the dissipations of mirth. If it were not for the beauty of its numbers, the Teian Muse should disown this ode. "Quid habet illius, illius quæ spirabat amores?"

To Stobæus we are indebted for it.

3 Bloomy graces, dalliance gay,

All the flowers of life decay.] Horace often, with feeling and elegance, deplores the fugacity of human enjoyments. See book ii. ode 11.; and thus in the second epistle, book ú.:—

Singula de nobis anni prædantur euntes;
Eripuere jocos, venerem, convivia, ludum.
The wing of every passing day
Withers some blooming joy away;

And wafts from our enamour'd arms

The banquet's mirth, the virgin's charms.

4 Dreary is the thought of dying! &c.] Regnier, a libertine French poet, has written some sonnets on the approach of death, full of gloomy and trembling repentance. Chaulieu, however, supports more consistently the spirit of the Epicurean philosopher. See his poem, addressed to the Marquis de Lafare

Plus j'approche du terme et moins je le redoute, &c.

And, when once the journey's o'er,

Ah! we can return no more!] Scaliger, upon Catullus's well-known lines, "Qui nunc it per iter, &c." remarks that Acheron, with the same idea, is called avižodos by Theocritus, and δυσεκδρομος by Nicander.

6 This ode consists of two fragments, which are to be found in Athenæus, book x., and which Barnes, from the similarity of their tendency, has combined into one. I think this a very justifiable liberty, and have adopted it in some other fragments of our poet.

Degen refers us here to verses of Uz, lib. iv., "der Trinker."

But let the water amply flow,

To cool the grape's intemperate glow; &c.] It was Amphictyon who first taught the Greeks to mix water with their wine; in commemoration of which circumstance they erected altars to Bacchus and the nymphs. On this mythological allegory the following epigram is founded:

Ardentem ex utero Semeles lavere Lyæum
Naiades, extincto fulminis igne sacri;
Cum nymphis igitur tractabilis, at sine nymphis
Candenti rursus fulmine corripitur.
PIERIUS VALERIANUS.

Which is, non verbum verbo,—

While heavenly fire consum'd his Theban dame,
A Naiad caught young Bacchus from the flame,
And dipp'd him burning in her purest lymph;
Hence, still he loves the Naiad's crystal urn,
And when his native fires too fiercely burn,

Seeks the cool waters of the fountain-nymph.