Зображення сторінки
PDF
ePub

ODE XII.

THEY tell how Atys, wild with love,
Roams the mount and haunted grove;
Cybele's name he howls around,

The gloomy blast returns the sound!
Oft too, by Claros' hallow'd spring,
The votaries of the laurell'd king

They tell how Atys, wild with love,

Roams the mount and haunted grove;] There are many contradictory stories of the loves of Cybele and Atys. It is certain that he was mutilated, but whether by his own fury, or Cybele's jealousy, is a point upon which authors are not agreed.

Cybele's name he howls around, &c.] I have here adopted the accentuation which Elias Andreas gives to Cybele:

In montibus Cybèlen

Magno sonans boatu.

Oft too, by Claros' hallow'd spring, &c] This fountain was in a grove, consecrated to Apollo, and situated between Colophon and Lebedos, in Ionia. The god had an oracle there.

Scaliger thus alludes to it in his Anacreontica:

VOL. I.

Semel ut concitus œstro,

Veluti qui Clarias aquas

Ebibere loquaces,

Quo plus canunt, plura volunt.

F

Quaff the inspiring, magic stream,
And rave in wild, prophetic dream.
But frenzied dreams are not for me,
Great Bacchus is my deity!

Full of mirth, and full of him,

While floating odours round me swim,
While mantling bowls are full supplied,
And you sit blushing by my side,
I will be mad and raving too—

Mad, my girl, with love for you!

While floating odours, &c.] Spaletti has quite mistaken the import of Kopeσeis, as applied to the poet's mistress- "Meâ fatigatus amicâ ; - thus interpreting it in a sense which must want either delicacy or gallantry; if not, perhaps, both.

[ocr errors]

ODE XIII.

I WILL, I will, the conflict's past,
And I'll consent to love at last.

Cupid has long, with smiling art,
Invited me to yield my heart;

And I have thought that peace of mind
Should not be for a smile resign'd;

And so repell'd the tender lure,

And hop'd my heart would sleep secure.

But, slighted in his boasted charms,
The angry infant flew to arms;
He slung his quiver's golden frame,
He took his bow, his shafts of flame,
And proudly summon'd me to yield,
Or meet him on the martial field.
And what did I unthinking do?

I took to arms, undaunted, too;

And what did I unthinking do?

I took to arms, undaunted, too;] Longepierre has here quoted an epigram from the Anthologia, in which the poet assumes Reason as the armour against Love.

Assum'd the corslet, shield, and spear,
And, like Pelides, smil'd at fear.

Then (hear it, all ye powers above!)

I fought with Love! I fought with Love!

Ωπλισμαι προς ερωτα περι στερνοισι λογισμον,

Ουδε με νικήσει, μονος εων προς ένα
Θνατος δ' αθανατω συνελεύσομαι' ην
δε βοηθον

Βακχον εχη, τι μονος προς δυ' εγω δύναμαι ;
With Reason I cover my breast as a shield,
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field;
Thus fighting his godship, I'll ne'er be dismay'd;
But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid,
Alas! then, unable to combat the two,
Unfortunate warrior, what should I do?

This idea of the irresistibility of Cupid and Bacchus united, is delicately expressed in an Italian poem, which is so truly Anacreontic, that its introduction here may be pardoned.

is an imitation, indeed, of our poet's sixth ode.

Lavossi Amore in quel vicino fiume

Ove giuro (Pastor) che bevend' io
Bevei le fiamme, anzi l'istesso Dio,
Ch'or con l'humide piume

Lascivetto mi scherza al cor intorno.
Ma che sarei s'io lo bevessi un giorno,
Bacco, nel tuo liquore?

Sarei, piu che non sono ebro d'Amore.
The urchin of the bow and quiver
Was bathing in a neighbouring river,
Where, as I drank on yester-eve,
(Shepherd-youth, the tale believe,)
'Twas not a cooling, crystal draught,
'Twas liquid flame I madly quaff'd ;

It

And now his arrows all were shed,
And I had just in terror fled
When, heaving an indignant sigh,
To see me thus unwounded fly,
And, having now no other dart,
He shot himself into my heart!
My heart-alas the luckless day!
Receiv'd the God, and died away.
Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield!
Thy lord at length is forc'd to yield.
Vain, vain, is every outward care,
The foe's within, and triumphs there.

For Love was in the rippling tide,
I felt him to my bosom glide;
And now the wily, wanton minion
Plays round my heart with restless pinion.
A day it was of fatal star,

But ah, 'twere even more fatal far,
If, Bacchus, in thy cup of fire,
I found this flutt'ring, young desire:
Then, then indeed my soul would prove,
Ev'n more than ever, drunk with love!

And, having now no other dart,

He shot himself into my heart!]

Dryden has parodied this

thought in the following extravagant lines :

I'm all o'er Love;

Nay, I am Love, Love shot, and shot so fast,
He shot himself into my breast at last.

« НазадПродовжити »