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War too has sullied Nature's charms, For gold provokes the world to arms: And oh the worst of all its arts,

It rends asunder loving hearts.

ODE XXX.

"TWAS in a mocking dream of night-
I fancied I had wings as light

As a young bird's, and flew as fleet;
While Love, around whose beauteous feet,
I knew not why, hung chains of lead,
Pursued me, as I trembling fled;

And, strange to say, as swift as thought,
Spite of my pinions, I was caught!
What does the wanton Fancy mean
By such a strange, illusive scene?

I fear she whispers to my breast,
That you, sweet maid, have stol'n its rest;
That though my fancy, for a while,

Hath hung on many a woman's smile,

I soon dissolv'd each passing vow,

And ne'er was caught by love till now!

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.

ODE XXXI.

ARM'D with hyacinthine rod,
(Arms enough for such a god,)
Cupid bade me wing my pace,

And try with him the rapid race.

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.

Nunc propero, nunc ire piget; rursumque redire
Pœnitet; et pudor est stare via media.

Ecce tacent 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,

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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;

When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my bed,
And forc'd 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,
Unshelter'd, trembling, doubtful of my way;
Tracing with naked foot the painful track,
Loth 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, unknowing where,

The slave of love, the victim of despair!

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

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:

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,

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Why hast thou been a foe to loving?

Την ψυχην, Αγαθωνα φιλων, επι χείλεσιν εσχον.
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.

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