ODE XLVII.

'Tis true, my fading years decline,
Yet can I quaff the brimming wine,
As deep as any stripling fair,

Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear;
And if, amidst the wanton crew,

I'm call'd to wind the dance's clue,

Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand,

Not faltering on the Bacchant's wand,
But brandishing a rosy flask,

The only thyrsus e'er I'll ask!

But brandishing a rosy flask, &c.] Aσkos was a kind of leathern vessel for wine, very much in use, as should seem by the proverb aσkos kaι Dvλakos, which was applied to those who were intemperate in eating and drinking. This proverb is mentioned in some verses quoted by Athenæus, from the Hesione of Alexis.

The only thyrsus e'er I'll ask!] Phornutus assigns as a reason for the consecration of the thyrsus to Bacchus, that inebriety often renders the support of a stick very necessary.

Let those, who pant for Glory's charms, Embrace her in the field of arms;

While my inglorious, placid soul
Breathes not a wish beyond this bowl.
Then fill it high, my ruddy slave,
And bathe me in its brimming wave.
For though my fading years decay,
Though manhood's prime hath pass'd away,
Like old Silenus, sire divine,

With blushes borrow'd from my wine,

I'll wanton 'mid the dancing train,

And live my follies o'er again!

ODE XLVIII.

WHEN my thirsty soul I steep,
Every sorrow's lull'd to sleep.
Talk of monarchs! I am then
Richest, happiest, first of men;
Careless o'er my cup I sing,
Fancy makes me more than king;
Gives me wealthy Croesus' store,
Can I, can I wish for more?
On my velvet couch reclining,
Ivy leaves my brow entwining,
While my soul expands with glee,
What are kings and crowns to me
If before my feet they lay,
I would spurn them all away!

"The ivy was conse

Ivy leaves my brow entwining, &c.] crated to Bacchus (says Montfaucon), because he formerly lay hid under that tree, or, as others will have it, because its leaves resemble those of the vine." Other reasons for its consecration, and the use of it in garlands at banquets, may be found in Longepierre, Barnes, &c. &c.

Arm ye, arm ye, men of might,
Hasten to the sanguine fight;
But let me, my budding vine!
Spill no other blood than thine.
Yonder brimming goblet see,
That alone shall vanquish me—
Who think it better, wiser far

To fall in banquet than in war.

Arm ye, arm ye, men of might,

Hasten to the sanguine fight;] I have adopted the interpretation of Regnier and others :

Altri segua Marte fero;

Che sol Bacco è 'l mio conforto.

ODE XLIX.

WHEN Bacchus, Jove's immortal boy,
The rosy harbinger of joy,

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl,

Thaws the winter of our soul

When to my inmost core he glides,
And bathes it with his ruby tides,
A flow of joy, a lively heat,

Fires my brain, and wings my feet,

This, the preceding ode, and a few more of the same character, are merely chansons à boire ;-the effusions probably of the moment of conviviality, and afterwards sung, we may imagine, with rapture throughout Greece. But that interesting association, by which they always recalled the convivial emotions that produced them, can now be little felt even by the most enthusiastic reader; and much less by a phlegmatic grammarian, who sees nothing in them but dialects and particles.

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl,

Thaws the winter of our soul &c.] Avalos is the title which he gives to Bacchus in the original. It is a curious circumstance, that Plutarch mistook the name of Levi among the Jews for Aeü (one of the bacchanal cries), and accordingly supposed that they worshipped Bacchus.