Light, on tiptoe bath'd in dew,

We flew, and sported as we flew !

Some ruddy striplings, who look'd on
With cheeks, that like the wine-god's shone,
Saw me chasing, free and wild,.

These blooming maids, and slyly smil'd;
Smil'd indeed with wanton glee,

Though none could doubt they envied me.

And still I flew and now had caught

The panting nymphs, and fondly thought
To gather from each rosy lip

A kiss that Jove himself might sip –
When sudden all my dream of joys,

Blushing nymphs and laughing boys,

When sudden all my dream of joys,
Blushing nymphs and laughing boys,

All were gone!] "Nonnus says of Bacchus, almost in the

same words that Anacreon uses,

Εγρομενος δε

Παρθενον ουκ εκιχησε, και ηθελεν αυθις ιανειν.”

Waking, he lost the phantom's charms,
The nymph had faded from his arms;
Again to slumber he essay'd,

Again to clasp the shadowy maid

LONGEPIERRE.

All were gone!" Alas!" I said,
Sighing for th' illusion fled,

Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore,
Oh! let me dream it o'er and o'er!"

66

Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore,

Oh! let me dream it o'er and o'er!"] Doctor Johnson, in his preface to Shakspeare, animadverting upon the commentators of that poet, who pretended, in every little coincidence of thought, to detect an imitation of some ancient poet, alludes in the following words to the line of Anacreon before us:—“I have been told that when Caliban, after a pleasing dream, says, 'I cried to sleep again,' the author imitates Anacreon, who had, like any other man, the same wish on the same occasion."

ODE XXXVIII.

LET us drain the nectar'd bowl,
Let us raise the song of soul

To him, the god who loves so well
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell;
The god who taught the sons of earth
To thrid the tangled dance of mirth;
Him, who was nurs'd with infant Love,
And cradled in the Paphian grove;
Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms
So oft has fondled in her arms.

Oh 'tis from him the transport flows,

Which sweet intoxication knows;

"Compare with this beautiful ode to Bacchus the verses of Hagedorn, lib. v., das Gesellschaftliche;' and of Bürger, p. 51, &c. &c."-Degen.

Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms,

So oft has fondled in her arms.] Robertellus, upon the epithalamium of Catullus, mentions an ingenious derivation of Cytheræa, the name of Venus, παρα το κεύθειν τους έρωτας, which seems to hint that "Love's fairy favours are lost, when not concealed."

With him, the brow forgets its gloom,
And brilliant graces learn to bloom.

Behold!—my boys a goblet bear,
Whose sparkling foam lights up the air.
Where are now the tear, the sigh?
To the winds they fly, they fly!
Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking,
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking!
Say, can the tears we lend to thought
In life's account avail us aught?
Can we discern with all our lore,
The path we've yet to journey o'er?
Alas, alas, in ways so dark,

'Tis only wine can strike a spark.

Alas, alas, in ways so dark,

'Tis only wine can strike a spark!] The brevity of life allows arguments for the voluptuary as well as the moralist. Among many parallel passages which Longepierre has adduced, I shall content myself with this epigram from the Anthologia.

Λουσαμενοι, Προδίκη, πυκασωμεθα, και τον ακρατον
Ἑλκωμεν, κυλικας μειζονας αραμενοι.

Ῥαιος ὁ χαιροντων εστι βιος. ειτα τα λοιπα

Γηρας κωλύσει, και το τελος θάνατος.

Of which the following is a paraphrase:

Then let me quaff the foamy tide,

And through the dance meandering glide;
Let me imbibe the spicy breath

Of odours chaf'd to fragrant death;
Or from the lips of love inhale
A more ambrosial, richer gale!
To hearts that court the phantom Care,
Let him retire and shroud him there;
While we exhaust the nectar'd bowl,
And swell the choral song of soul
To him, the god who loves so well
The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell!

Let's fly, my love, from noonday's beam,
To plunge us in yon cooling stream;
Then, hastening to the festal bower,
We'll pass in mirth the evening hour;
'Tis thus our age of bliss shall fly,
As sweet, though passing as that sigh,
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip,
"Come, while you may, of rapture sip."
For age will steal the graceful form,
Will chill the pulse, while throbbing warm;
And death alas! that hearts, which thrill
Like yours and mine, should e'er be still!