I caught the boy, a goblet's tide ODE VII. THE women tell me every day Ecce rosas inter latitantem invenit amorem I (dixit) mea, quære novum tibi mater amorem, As fair Hyella, through the bloomy grove, Oh! mother Venus (said the raptured child By charms, of more than mortal bloom, beguiled), This epigram of Naugerius is imitated by Lodovico Dolce, in a po m beginning Montre raccoglie hor uno, hor altro fiore 1 Alberti has imitated this ode, în a poem beginning Nisa mi dice e Clori Tirsi, tu se pur veglio. Whether decline has thinn'd my hair, I'm sure I neither know nor care.] Henry Stephen very justly remarks the elegant negligence of expression in the original here: Εγω δε τας κομάς μεν Ειτ' εισιν, ειτ' απήλθον Ουκ οίδα. And Longepierre has adduced from Catullus what he thinks a similar instance of this simplicity of manner: Ipse quis sit, utrum sit, an non sit, id quoque nescit. Longepierre was a good critic, but perhaps the line which he has selected is a specimen of a carelessness not very elegant; at the same time I confess, that none of the Latin poets have ever appeared to me so capable of imitating the graces of Anacreon as Catullus, if he had not allowed a depraved imagination to hurry him so often into vulgar licentiousness. That still as death approches nearer, ODE VIII.' I CARE not for the idle state Of Persia's king, the rich, the great! envy not the monarch's throne, Nor wish the treasured gold my own. But oh! be mine the rosy braid, The fervour of my brows to shade; Be mine the odours, richly sighing, Amidst my hoary tresses flying. To-day I'll haste to quaff my wine, As if to-morrow ne'er should shine; But if to-morrow comes, why thenI'll haste to quaff my wine again. And thus while all our days are bright, Nor time has dimm'd their bloomy light, Let us the festal hours beguile With mantling cup and cordial smile; That still as death approaches nearer, The joys of life are sweeter, dearer.] Pontanus has a very delicate thought upon the subject of old age: Quid rides, Matrona? senem quid temnis amantem? Why do you scorn my want of youth, And with a smile my brow' behold? Lady, dear! believe this truth That be who loves cannot be old. The German poet Lessing has imitated this ode. Vol. i, p. 24. -Degen. Gail de Editionibus. Baxter conjectures that this was written upon the occasion of our poet's returning the money to Policrates, according to the anecdote in Stobus. I care not for the idle state Of Persia's king, etc.] There is a fragment of Archilochus in Plutarch, De tranquillitate animi,' which our poet has very closely imitated here: it begins, Ου μοι τα Γυγέω του πολυχρυσου μελεί.» —BARNES. In one of the monkish imitators of Anacreon we find the same thought. Ψυχήν εμην ερωτω, Θελεις Γυγέω, τα και τα; Be mine the odours, richly sighing, Amidst my hoary tresses flying.] In the original, βρέχει» υπήνη». On account of this idea of perfuming the beard, Cornelius de Pauw pronounces the whole ode to be the spurious production of some lascivious monk, who was nursing his beard with unguents. But he should have known that this was an ancient eastern custom, which, if we may believe Savary, still exists: . Vous voyez, Monsieur (says this traveller), que l'usage antique de se parfumer la tête et la barbe, (a) célébré par le prophète roi, subsiste encore de nos jours.-Lettre 12. Savary likewise cites this very ode of Anacreon. Angerianus has not thought the idea inconsistent -he has introduced it in the following lines: Hæc mihi cura, rosis et cingere tempora myrto, This be my care, to twine the rosy wreath, (a) • Sient unguentum in capite quod descendit in barbam Aaron.Psaume 133.. And shed from every bowl of wine And grimly bid us-drink no more! ODE IX. I PRAY thee, by the gods above, Give me the mighty bowl I love, And let me sing, in wild delight, I will-I will be mad to-night! Alemæon once, as legends tell, Was frenzied by the fiends of hell; Orestes too, with naked tread, Frantic paced the mountain head; And why!-a murder'd mother's shade Before their conscious fancy play'd; But I can ne'er a murderer be, The grape alone shall bleed by me; Yet can I rave, in wild delight, . I will-I will be mad to-night. The son of Jove, in days of yore Imbrued his hands in youthful gore, And brandish'd, with a maniac joy, The quiver of the expiring boy: And Ajax, with tremendous shield, Infuriate scour'd the guiltless field. But I, whose hands no quiver hold, No weapon but this flask of gold, The trophy of whose frantic hours Is but a scatter'd wreath of flowers; Yet, yet can sing with wild delight, . I will-I will be mad to-night! 2 This ode is addressed to a swallow. I find, from Degen and from Gail's index, that the German poet Weisse has imitated it, Scherz. Leider. lib. ii, carm. 5; that Ramler also has imitated it, Lyr. Blumenlese, lib, iv, p. 335; and some otbers.-See Gail de Editionibus. We are referred by Degen to that stupid book, the Epistles of Alciphron, tenth epistle, third book; where Iophon complains to Eraston of being wakened, by the crowing of a cock, from his vision of riches. Silly swallow! prating thing, etc.] The loquacity of the swallow was proverbialized: thus Nicostratus Ει το συνεχώς και πολλα και ταχέως λαλειν Ör, as Tereus did of old Ah! thy matin broke my rest! ODE XI.' TELL me, gentle youth, I pray thee, To a youth who pass'd my way. Take it, for a trifle take it; Think not yet that I could make it ; Pray believe it was not I; No-it cost me many a sigh, And I can no longer keep Little gods who murder sleep!. Here, then, here,» I said, with joy, Here is silver for the boy: He shall be my bosom guest, Little Love! thou now art mine, Or thy waxen frame shall melt. I must burn in warm desire, Or thou, my boy, in yonder fire! ODE XII. THEY tell how Atys, wild with love, If in prating from morning till night, A sign of our wisdom there be, The swallows are wiser by right, For they prattle much faster than we. Or, as Tereus did of old, etc.] Modern poetry has confirmed the name of Philomel upon the nightingale; but many very respectable ancients assigned this metamorphosis to Progne, and made Philomel the swallow, as Anacreon does here. It is difficult to preserve with any grace the narrative simplicity of this ode, and the humour of the turn with which it concludes. I feel that the translation must appear very vapid, if not ludicrous, to an English reader. And I can no longer keep Little gods who murder sleep!] I have not literally rendered the epithet TaTopext; if it has any meaning here, it is one, porhaps, better omitted. I must burn in warm desire, Or thor, my boy, in yonder fire !] Monsieur Longepierre conjectures from this, that whatever Anacreon might say, he sometimes felt the inconveniences of old age, and here solicits from the power of Love a warmth which he could no longer expect from Nature. 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 her jealousy, is a point which authors are not agreed upon. 209 Cybele's name he howls around, Full of mirth, and full of him, While waves of perfume round me swim, ODE XIII. I WILL, I will; the conflict's past, And I have thought that peace of mind And hoped my heart should sleep secure. I took to arms, undaunted too : And what did I unthinking do? I took to arms, undaunted too.] Longepierre has quoted an epigram from the Anthologia, in which the poet assumes Reason as the armour against Love. Ώπλισμαι προς έρωτα περι φερνοισι λογισμόν, With Reason I cover my breast as a shield, This idea of the irresistibility of Cupid and Bacchus united, is delicately expressed in an Italian poem, which is so very Anacreontic, that I may be pardoned for introducing it. Indeed, it is an imitation of our poet's sixth ode. Assumed the corslet, shield, and spear, And, like Pelides, smiled at fear. Then (hear it, all you Powers above!) I fought with Love! I fought with Love! And now his arrows all were shedAnd I had just in terror fledWhen, heaving an indignant sigh, To see me thus unwounded fly, And having now no other dart, He glanced himself into my heart! My heart-alas the luckless day! Received the god, and died away. Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield! Thy lord at length was forced to yield. Vain, vain is every outward care, My foe's within, and triumphs there. ODE XIV.' COUNT me, on the summer trees, Lavossi Amore in quel vicino fiume Sarei, piu che non sono ebro d'Amore. Plays o'er my heart with restless pinion. But were it not more fatal far, If, Bacchus, in thy cup of fire, I found this Auttering, young desire? And having now no other dart, He glanced 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, The poet, in this catalogue of his mistresses means nothing more than, by a lively byperbole, to tell us that his heart, unfettered ral. Cowley is indebted to this ode for the hint of his ballad, called by any one object, was warm with devotion towards the sex in gene The Chronicle; and the learned Monsieur Menage has imitated it in a Greek Anacreontic, which has so much ease and spirit, that the reader may not be displeased at seeing it here: Προς Βίωνα. Ει αλσεων τα φυλλα, Λειμωνίους τε ποίας, Ει νυκτος αςρα παντα, Παράκτιους τε ψάμμους, Αλος τε κυματώδη, Δυνη, Βίων, αριθμείν, Και τους εμους έρωτας Δυνη, Βίων, αριθμειν. Κόρην, Γυναίκα, Χήραν, Σμικρην, Μεσην, Μεγίςην, Count me, on the foamy deep, Every wave that sinks to sleep; Then, when you have number'd these Billowy tides and leafy trees, Count me all the flames I prove, All the gentle nymphs I love. Tell the foliage of the woods, Naiads, Nereids, nymphs of fountains, Every leaf, etc.] This figure is called, by the rhetoricians, aduvaTOV, and is very frequently made use of in poetry. The amatory writers have exhausted a world of imagery by it, to express the infinity of kisses which they require from the lips of their mistresses: in this Catullus led the way. -quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, Vesano satis, et super Catullo est: Upon those dew-bright lips I'll number; No tongue shall tell the sum hut mine; No lips shall fascinate but thine! In the sweet Corinthian grove, Carm. 7. Where the glowing wantons rove, etc.] Corinth was very famous for the beauty and the number of its courtezans. Venus was the deity There indeed are girls divine, Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast; Sum these all-of brown and fair Glowing under Egypt's sun? Or the nymphs who, blushing sweet, buted beauty to the women of Greece.--DEGEN. Monsieur de Pauw, the author of Dissertations upon the Greeks, is of a different opinion; he thinks that, by a capricious partiality of nature, the other sex had all the beauty, and accounts upon this supposition for a very singular depravation of instinct among them. Gades' warm desiring train.] The Gaditanian girls were like the Baladières of India, whose dances are thus described by a French author: Les danses sont presque toutes des pantomimes d'amour; le plan, le dessin, les attitudes, les mesures, les sons, et les cadences de ces ballets, tout respire cette passion, et en exprime les voluptés et les fureurs, Histoire du Commerce des Europ. dans les deux Indes. -RAYNAL. The music of the Gaditanian females had all the voluptuous character of their dancing, as appears from Martial: Cantica qui Nili, qui Gaditana susurrat. Lib. iii, epig. 63. Lodovico Ariosto had this ode of our bard in his mind, when be wrote his poem De diversis amoribus. See the Anthologia Italorum. The dove of Anacreon, bearing a letter from the poet to his mistress, is met by a stranger, with whom this dialogue is imagined. The ancients made use of letter-carrying pigeons, when they went any distance from home, as the most certain means of conveying intelligence back. That tender domestic attachment, which attracts this delicate little bird through every danger and difficulty, till it settles in its native nest, affords to the elegant author of The Pleasures of Memory a fine and interesting exemplification of his subject. Led by what chart, transports the timid dove The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love? See the poem. Daniel Heinsius has a similar sentiment, speaking of Dousa, who adopted this method at the siege of Leyden : Quo patriæ non tendit amor? Mandata referre Postquam hominem nequiit mittere, misit avem. Tell me whither, whence you rove, Tell me all, my sweetest dove ? Curious stranger! I belong To the bard of Teian song; With his mandate now I fly To the nymph of azure eye; Ah! that eye has madden'd many, But the poet more than any! Venus, for a hymn of love Warbled in her votive grove ('T was, in sooth, a gentle lay), Gave me to the bard away. See me now his faithful minion, Thus, with softly-gliding pinion, To his lovely girl I bear Songs of passion through the air. Oft he blandly whispers me, " Soon, my bird, I'll set you free.»> But in vain he 'll bid me fly, Far from such retreats as these; ODE XVI. THOU, whose soft and rosy hues Mimic form and soul infuse; Fuller tells us that, at the siege of Jerusalem, the Christians intercepted a letter tied to the legs of a dove, in which the Persian Emperor promised assistance to the besieged. See Fuller's Holy War, cap. 24, b. i. Ah! that eye has madden'd many, etc.] For Tupavoy, in the original, Zeune and Schneider conjecture that we should read Tupavou, in allusion to the strong influence which this object of his love held over the mind of Polycrates.»-See Degen. Venus, for a hymn of love Warbled in her votive grove, etc.] This passage is invaluable, and I do not think that any thing so beautiful or so delicate has ever been said. What an idea does it give of the poetry of the man from whom Venus herself, the mother of the Graces and the Pleasures, purchases a little hymn with one of her favourite doves.-LONGEPIERRE. De Pauw objects to the authenticity of this ode, because it makes Anacreon his own panegyrist; but poets have a license for praising themselves, which, with some indeed, may be considered as comprised under their general privilege of fiction. This ode and the next may be called companion-pictures; they are highly finished, and give us an excellent idea of the taste of the Let Best of painters! come, pourtray The lovely maid that's far away. Far away, my soul! thou art, But I've thy beauties all by heart. Paint her jetty ringlets straying, Silky twine in tendrils playing; And, if painting hath the skill To make the spicy balm distil, every little lock exhale A sigh of perfume on the gale. Where her tresses' curly flow Darkles o'er the brow of snow, Let her forehead beam to light, Burnish'd as the ivory bright. Let her eyebrows sweetly rise In jetty arches o'er her eyes, Gently in a crescent gliding, Just commingling, just dividing. But hast thou any sparkles warm, The lightning of her eyes to form? Stesichorus gave the epithet xæààíñλoxxμs to the Graces, and Simonides bestowed the same upon the Muses. See Hadrian Junius's Dissertation upon Hair. To this passage of our poet, Selden alluded in a note on the Polyolbion of Drayton, song the second; where, observing that the epithet black-haired was given by some of the ancients to the goddess Isis, he says, Nor will I swear, but that Anacreon (a man very judicious in the provoking motives of wanton love), intending to ornament, well-haired (xzλendoxzuos), thought of this when bestow on his sweet mistress that one of the titles of woman's special he gave his painter direction to make her black-haired." And, if painting hath the skill To make the spicy balm distil, etc.] Thus Philostratus, speaking of a picture: επαίνω και τον ενδροσον των ῥόδων, και φημι yeypaplaι auta jeta tys suns. I admire the dewiness of these roses, and could say that their very smell was painted.. |