To man she gave the flame refined,
The spark of Heaven-a thinking mind!
And had she no surpassing treasure
For thee, oh woman! child of pleasure ?
She gave thee beauty-shaft of cyes,
That every shaft of war outflies!
She gave thee beauty-blush of fire,
That bids the flames of war retire !
Woman! be fair, we must adore thee;
Smile, and a world is weak before thee!

Still every year, and all the year, A flight of loves engender here; And some their infant plumage try, And on a tender winglet fly; While in the shell, impregn’d with fires, Cluster a thousand more desires; Some from their tiny prisons peeping, And some in formless embryo sleeping. My bosom, like the vernal groves, Resounds with little warbling loves ; One urchin imps the other's feather, Then twin-desires they wing together, And still as they have learn'd to soar, The wanton babies teem with more. But is there then no kindly art, To chase these Cupids from my heart ! No, no! I fear, alas ! I fear They will for ever nestle here!

ODE XXV.: Once in each revolving year, Gentle bird! we find thee here, When Nature wears her summer-vest, Thou comest to weave thy simple nest; But when the chilling winter lowers, Again thou seek'st the genial bowers Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, Where sunny hours of verdure smile. And thus thy wing of freedom roves, Alas! unlike the plumed loves, That linger in this hapless breast, And never, never change their nest!

ODE XXVI.' Tax harp may sing of Troy's alarms, Or tell the tale of Theban arms; With other wars my song shall burn, For other wounds my harp shall mourn. "T was not the crested warrior's dart, Which drank the current of my heart; Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed, Have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed; No—from an cye of liquid blue A host of quiver'd Cupids flew; And now my heart all bleeding lies Beneath this army of the eyes!

To man she gave the same refined,

The spark of Heaven-a thinking mind!] In my first attempt to translate this ode, 1 had interpreted oporum, with Baxter and Barnes, as implying courage and military viride; but I do not think that the gallantry of the idea suffers by the import which I have now given to it. For, why need we consider this possession of wisdom as exclusive ? and in truth, as the design of Anacreon is to estimate the treasure of beauty, above all the resi which Nature bas distributed, it is perhaps even refining upon the delicacy of the compliment, to prefer the radiance of female charms to be cold illumination of wisdom and prudence; and to tbink that women's eyes aro

--the books, the academies,
From whence doth spring ibo true Promethean fire.

thee beauty-shafı of eyes, That every shaft of war outfries! Thus Achilles Tatius : x02205 οξυτερον τιτρωσκει βελους, και δια των οφθαλμών εις την ψυχην καταρρει. Οφθαλμος γαρ οδος ερωτικο τραυματι. . Beauty wounds more swiftly than the arrow, and passes through the eye to the very soul ; for the eye is the inlet to tbe wounds of love..

Woman! be fair, we must adore thee;

Smile, and a world is weak before thee! Longepierre's here is very ingenious: The Romans, - says be, . were so convinced of the power of beauty, ibat they used a word implying strength in the place of the epitbet beautiful. Thus Plautus, act 2, sceno 2. Bacchid.

Sed Bacchis etiam fortis tibi visa.
Fortis, id est formosa,' say Servius and Nonius..

! This is another ode addressed to the swallow. Alberti bas imitated both in one poem, beginning

Perch' io pianga al tuo canto

Rondinella importuna, etc.
Alas! unlike the plumed loves,
That linger in this hapless breast,

And never, never change their nest!) Thus Love is represented as a bird, in an epigram cíted by Longopierre from the Anthologia: Αιει μοι δυνει μεν εν ουασιν ηχος έρωτος, ,

Oμμα δε σιγα ποθους το γλυκυ δακρυ φερει.
Ουδ' ή νυξ, ου φεγγος εκοιμισεν, αλλ' υπο φιλτρων

Ηοε που κραυιη γνωςος ενεςι τυπος.
Ω πτανοι, μη και ποτ' εφιπτασθαι μεν ερωτες

Οιδατ, αποπτηναι δ' ουδ' όσον ισχυετε;

We read the flying courser's name
Upon his side, in marks of flame;

'T is Love that murmurs in my breast,

And makes me shed the secret tear;
Nor day nor night my heart has rest,

For night and day his voico I bear.
A wound within my heart I find,

And oh! 't is plain where Love has been ;
For still he leaves a wound behind,

Such as within my heart is seen.
Ob bird of Love! with song so drear,

Make not my soul the nest of pain ;
Oh! let the wing which brougbt thee here,

In pity waft thee bence again! 1. The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. Compare also Weisse Scherz. Leider, lib, iii, der Soldat.. Gail, Degen.

No-from an eye of liquid blue,

A host oj quiver'd Cupids flew.) Longepierre has quoted part of an epigram from the seventh book of the Anthologia, wbich bas a fancy something like this:


Τοξοτα, Ζηνοφιλας ομμασι κρυπτομενος.

Archer Love ! though slily creeping,

Well I know w bere thou dost lie ;
I saw thee through the cartain peeping,

That fringes Zenuphelia's eye. The poets a bound with conceits on tbe archery of the eyes, but few have turned the thought so naturally as Anacreon. Ronsard gives to the eyes of his mistress « un petit camp d'amours..

* This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican MS., but I have conformed to the editions in translatiog them separately,

- Compare with this» (saya Dezen) the poem of Ramler Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv, p. 313..

And, by their turban'd brows alone,
The warriors of the East are known.
But in the lover's glowing eyes
The inlet to his bosom lies;
Through them we see the small faint mark,
Where Love has dropp'd his burning spark !

That though they pass the breeze's flight,
My bolts are not so feathery light.»
He took the shaft-and, oh! thy look,
Sweet Venus! when the shaft he took-
He sigh’d, and felt the urchin's art;
He sigh'd, in agony of heart,
« It is not light-I die with pain!
Take-take thy arrow back again.»
« No,» said the child, « it must not be,
That little dart was made for thee!

ODE XXIX. Yes-loving is a painful thrill, And not to love more painful still;

ODE XXVIII. As in the Lemnian caves of fire, The mate of her who nursed desire Moulded the glowing steel, to form Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm; While Venus every barb imbues, With droppings of her honied dews; And Love (alas! the victim-heart) Tinges with gall the burning dart; Once, to this Lemnian cave of tlame, The crested Lord of battles came; 'T was from the ranks of war he rush'd, His spear with many a life-drop blush'd ! He saw the mystic darts, and smiled Derision on the archer-child. « And dost thou smile ?» said little Love, Take this dart, and thou mayst prove,

Yes --loving is a painful thrill,

And not to love more painful still, etc.) Mousieur Menage, in the following Anacreontic, enforces the necessity of loving: Περι του δειν φιλησαι.

Προς Πετρον Δανιηλα Υεττον. .

Μεγα θαυμα των αοιδων
Χαριτων θαλος Υεττε, ,
Φιλεωμεν, ω εταιρε.
Φιλεησαν οι σοφιςαι. .
Φιλεησε σεμνος ανήρ,
Το τέκνον του Σωφρονισκου,
Σοφιης πατηρ άπασης. .
Τι δ' ανευ γένοιτ' Ερωτος;
Ακονη μεν εςι ψυχης. (α)
Πτερυγέσσιν εις ολυμπον
Κατακείμενους αναιρέι. .
- Βραδέας τετηγμενοισι
Βελεεσσι εξαγειρει, ,
Πυρι λαμπαδος φαεινω
Ρυπαρωτερους καθαιρει.

Φιλεωμεν ουν, YETTE,
Φιλεωμεν, ω εταιρε.
Αδικως δε λοιδορουντι
"Αγιους ερωτας ήμων
Κακον ευξομαι το μουνον
"Ινα μη δύναιτ' εκείνος
Φιλεειν τε και φιλεισθαι. .

But in the lover's glawing eyes

The inlet to his bosom lies.] • We cannot see into the beart, says Madame Dacier. But the lover answers

Il cor ne gli occhi e ne la fronte ho scritto. Monsieur La Fosse has given the following lines, as enlarging on the thought of Anacreon :

Lorsque je vois un amani,
Il cache en vain son tourment,
A le trahir tout conspire ;
Sa langueur, son embarras,
Tout ce qu'il peut faire ou dire,

Même ce qu'il po dit pas.
In vain the lover tries to veil

The fame wbich in his bosom lies ;
His cheek's confusion tells the tale,

We read it in his languid eyes :
And though his words the heart betray,

His silenco speaks c'en more than they. • This ode is referred to by La Mothe le Vayer, who, I believe, was the author of that carious little work called Hexameron Rustique. Ile makes use of this, as well as the thirty-fifth, in his ingenious but indelicate explanation of Homer's Cave of the Nymphs. Journée Quatrième.

And Lore (alas ! the victim-heart)
T'inges with gall the burning dart.) Thus Claudian-

Labuntor gemini fontes, bic dulcis, amarus
Alter, et infusis corrumpit mella venenis,
Unde Cupidineas armavit fama sagittas.
In Cyprus' isle two rippling fountains fall,
And one with honey flows, and one with gall;
In those, if we may take the tale from fame,

The son of Venus dips his darts of famo. See the ninety-first emblem of Alciatus, on the close connexion which subsists between sweets and bitterness. Apes ideo pungunt (says Petronius) quia ubi dulce, ibi et acidum invenies.

Tho allegorical description of Cupid's employment, in Horace, may vie with this before as in fancy, though not in delicacy:

--ferus et Cupido
Semper ardentes acuens sagittas

Cote cruenta.
And Cupid, sharpening all his fiery darts

Cpon a whetstone stain'd with blood of hearts. Secundus bas borrowed this, but has somewhat softened the image by the omission of the epithet « cruenta.

Fallor an ardentes aruebat cote sagitas.-Eleg. 1.

PETER DARI HUETT. Thou! of tuneful bards the first, Thou ! by all the Graces pursed ; Friend ! each other friend above, Come with me, and learn to love. Loving is a simple lore, Graver men have learn'd before : Nay, the hoast of former ages, Wisest of the wisest sages, Sophroniscus' prudent son, Was by Love's illusion won. Oh ! how heavy life would more, If we knew not how to love! Love's a wbetstone to the mind; Thus 't is pointed, thus refined. When the soul dejected lies, Love can waft it to the skies: When in languor sleeps the heart, Love can wake it with his dart;

(a) This line is borrowed from an epigram by Alpheus of Mitylene.

--ψυχης εςιν Ερως ακονη. . Menage, I think, says somewhere, that he was the Orst who produced this epigram to the world.

But surely 't is the worst of pain,

Cupid bade me wing my pace, To love and not be loved again!

And try with him the rapid race. Affection now has tled from carth,

O'er the wild torrent, rude and deep, Nor fire of genius, light of birtlı,

By tangled brake and pendent steep, Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile

With weary foot I panting flew, From beauty's cheek one favouring smile.

My brow was chill with drops of dew. Gold is the woman's only theme,

And now my soul, exhausted, dying, Gold is the woman's only dream.

To my lip was faintly flying; Oh! never be that wretch forgiven

And now I thought the spark had fled, Forgive him not, indignant Ileaven!

When Cupid hover'd o'er my head, Whose grovelling eyes could first adore,

And, fanning light his breezy plume, Whose heart could pant for sordid ore.

Recall’d me from my languid gloom; Since that devoted thirst began,

Then said, in accents half-reproving,
Man has forgot to feel for man;

Why hast thou been a foe to loving ?,
The pulse of social life is dead,
And all its fonder feelings tled!
War too has sullied Nature's charms,

For gold provokes the world to arms!

Strew me a breathing bed of leaves And oh! the worst of all its art,

Where lotus with the myrtle weaves ; I feel it breaks the lover's heart!

Lecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis

Carpebam, et somno lumina victa daham ;

Cum me savus Amor prensum, sursumque capillis

Excitat, et lacerum persigilare jubet. 'T was in an airy dream of night,

Ta famulus meus, inquit, ames cum mille puellas,

Solus lo, solus, dure jacere potes ? I fancied, that I wing'd my flight

Exilio et pedibus pudis, tunicaque soluta, On pinions fleeter than the wind,

Omne iter impedio, nullum iter expedio. While little Love, whose feet were twined

Nunc propero, nunc ire pigot; rursumque rediro (I know not why) with chains of lsad,

Papitet ; et pudor est stare via media.

Ecce tacent voces hominum, strepitusque ferarum, l'ursued me as I treinbling thed;

Et volucrum cantus, turhaque fida canum. Pursued-and could I c'er have thought ? -

Solus ego er cunctis pavdo somnumque torumque, Swift as the moment I was caught!

Et sequor imperium, sæve Cupido, tuum. What does the wanton Fancy mean

l'pon my couch I lay, at night profound, By such a strange, illusive scene?

My languid eyes in magic slumber bound, I fear she whispers to my breast,

When Cupid came and snatch'd me from my bed,

And forced me many a weary way to tread. That you, my girl, have stolen my rest;

• What! (said the god) shall you, whose vows are known, That thouglı my fancy, for a while,

Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone! llas hung on maný a woman's smile,

Irise and follow; all the night I stray, I soon dissolved the passing vow,

Unsbelter'd, trembling, doubtful of my way,

Tracing with naked foot the painful track,
And ne'er was caught by Love till now!

Loth to proceed, yet fearful to go back.
Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd,
Nor warbling birils, nor lowing flocks are beard ;

I, I alone, a fugitive from rest,

Passion my guide, and madness in my breast.

Wander the world around, unknowing where, ARM'D with hyacinthine rod

T be slave of love, the victim of despair ! (Arins enough for such a god),

My brow was chill with drops of dew.). I have followed those who

read τειρεν έδρους for πεισεν ύδρος; the former is partly When tbe mind is dull and dark.

authorized by the us. which reads Trelpev lopus.
Love can light it with bis spark !

And now my soul, exhausted, dying,
Come, oh! come then, let as baste
All the bliss of love to taste;

To my lip was faintly Nying, etc.) In the original, he says his

heart flew to his nose; but our manner more naturally transfers it Let us love both night and day,

to the lips. Such is the effect that Plato tells us he felt from a kiss, Let us love our lives away!

in a distich, quoted by Aulus Gellius :
And when bearts, from loving free
(If indeed such hearts there be),

Την ψυχην, Αγαθωνα φιλων, επι χειλεσιν εσχον,
Frown upon our gentle flame,

Ηλθε γαρ ή τλημων ως διαβησομενη.
And ibe sweet delusion blame;
This sball be my only corso,

Whene'er thy neetar'd kiss I sip.
(Could I, could I wish them worse?)

And drink thy breath, in melting twine,
May Ibey ne'er the rapture prove

My soul then fattors to my lip.
of the smile from lips we love!

Ready to fly and mix with thine.

Aulus Gellius subjoins a paraphrase of this epigram, in which we * Barnes imagines from this allegory, that our poet married very

find many of those mignardises of expression, which mark the effelate in life. I do not perceive any thing in the ode which seems to

mination of the Latin language. allude to matrimony, except it be the lead upon the feet of Cupid ; and I must confess that I agree in the opinion of Madame Dacier, in

And, fanning light his breezy plume, ber life of the poet, that he was always 100 fond of pleasure to marry. Recall'd me from my languid gloom.) . The facility with which

* The desigo of this little fiction is to intimate, that much greater Cupid recovers him, signifies that the sweets of love make us easily pain attends insensibility than can ever result from the tenderestim- forget any solicitudes which he may occasion..-La Fosse. prossions of love. Longepierre has quoted an ancient epigram (I do 1 We here have the poet, in his true attributes, reclining upon not know where be found it), which has some similitude to this ode: myriles, with Cupid for bis cup-bearer. Some interpreters have

And, while in luxury's dream I sink,
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink!
In this delicious hour of joy
Young Love shall be my goblet-boy;
Folding his little golden vest,
With cinctures, round his

spowy breast,
Himself shall hover by my side,
And minister the racy tide!
Swift as the wheels that kindling roll,
Our life is hurrying to the goal :
A scanty dust to feed the wind,
Is all the trace 't will leave behind.
Why do we shed the rose's bloom
Upon the cold, insensate tomb ?
Can flowery brecze, or odour's breath,
Affect the slumbering chill of death?
No, no; I ask no balm to steep
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep :

now, while every pulse is glowing, Now let me breathe the balsam flowing; Now let the rose with blush of fire, Upon my brow in scent expire; And bring the nymph with floating eye, Oh! she will teach me how to die! Yes, Cupid ! ere my soul retire, To join the blest Elysian choir, With wine, and love, and blisses dear, I'll make my own Elysium here!

• And who art thou,. I waking cry,
• That bid'st my blissful visions fly?»

() gentle sire!, the infant said, • In pity take me to thy shed; Nor fear deceit: a lonely child I wander o'er the gloomy wild. Chill drops the rain, and not a ray Ilumes the drear and misty way!» I hear the baby's tale of woc; I hear the bitter night-winds blow; And, sigling for his piteous fate, I trimm'd my lamp, and oped the gate. "T was Love! the little wandering sprite, His pinion sparkled through the night! I knew him by his bow and dart; I knew him by my fluttering heart! I take him in, and fondly raise The dying embers' cheering blaze; Press from his dank and clinging hair The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and bosom hold Ilis little fingers thrilling cold. And now the embers' genial ray ilad wari'd his anxious fears away; . I pray thee,» said the wanton child (My bosom trembled as he smiled), I pray

thee let me try my bow,
For through the rain I've wander'd so,
That much I fear the ceaseless shower
Has injured its clastic power.»
The fatal bow the urchin drew;
Swift from the string the arrow flew;
Ol! swift it flew as glancing flame,
And to my very soul it came!

Fare thee well.. I heard him say,
As laughing wild he wing'd away;
• Fare thee well, for now I know
The rain has not relax'd my bow;
It still can send a maddening dart,
As thou shalt own with all thy heart!

ODE XXXIII.' 'T was noon of night, when round the pole The sullen Bear is seen to roll; And mortals, wearied with the day, Are slumbering all their cares away: An infant, al that dreary hour, Came weeping to my silent bower, And waked me with a piteous prayer, To save him from the midnight air !

ODE XXXIV.: Ou thou, of all creation blest, Sweet insect! that delight'st to rest

ruined the picture by making Eposs the name of his slave. None but Love should fill the goblet of Anacreon. Sappho bas assigned this office to Venus, in a fragment. E202, kutepi, ZPUTELKIGLY EV κυλικεσσιν άθροις συμμεμιγμενον θαλιαισι νεκταρ οινοχοουσα τουτοισι τοις έταιροις εμοις γε και σοις. . Which may be thus paraphrased :

Hither, Venus ! queen of kisses,
This shall be the night of blisses !
This the night, to friendship dear,
Thou shalt be our llebe here.
Fill the golden brimmer high,
Let it sparkle like thine eye!
Bid the rosy current gosh,
Let it mapule like thy blush!
Venus! bast thou e'er above
Seen a feast so rich in love?
Not a soul that is not mine!
Not a soul that is not thino!

« And who art thou · I waking cry,

That hidst my blissful visions fly?-) Anacreon appears to have been a voluptuary even in dreaming, hy the lively regret which he expresses at being disturbed from his visionary enjoyments. See the odes x and XXXVII.

'Tuas Love! the little wandering sprite, etc.) See the beautiful description of Capid, by Moschus, in his first idyl.

Father Rapin, in a Latin ode addressed to the grasshopper, has preserved some of the thoughts of our author :

O qur rirenti graminis in toro,
Cicada, blande sidis, et herbidos

Salius oberras, otiosos

Ingeniosa ciero cantus.
Seu forte adultis floribus incubas,

Cæli caducis ebria Betibus, etc.
Oh theo, that on the grassy bed
Whish Nature's vernal hand has spread,
Reclinest soft, and tunest thy song,
The dewy herbs and leaves among!
Whether thou liest on springing flowers,
Drunk with the balmy morning-showers,

Or, etc.
See what Licetus says about grasshoppers, cap. 93 and 185.

• Compare with this ode (says the German commentator) the beautiful poem ia Ramlor's Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv, p. 296. Amor als Diener..

* Monsieur Bernard, the author of l'Art d'Aimer, has written a ballet called « Les Surprises de l'Amour, in which thy subject of the third ontrée is Anacreon, and the story of this ode suggests one of tbe scenes. OEuvres de Bernard, Anac. scene 41h.

The German annotator refers us bere to an imitation by Cz, lib. iii, « Amor und sein Bruder, - and a poem of Kleint die Heilung. La Fontaine has translated, or rather imitatod, this ode.

Upon the wild wood's leafy tops,

Luckless urchin not to see To drink the dew that morning drops,

Within the leaves a slumbering bee! And chirp thy song with such a glee,

The bce awaked-with anger wild That happiest kings may envy thee!

The bee awaked and slung the child. Whatever decks the velvet field,

Loud and piteous are his cries; Whate'er the circling seasons yield,

To Venus quick he runs, he flies! Whatever buds, whatever blows,

« Oh mother!-I am wounded throughFor thee it buds, for thee it grows.

I die with pain-in sooth I do! Nor yet art thou the peasant's fear,

Stung by some little angry thing, To him thy friendly notes are dear;

Some serpent on a tiny wingFor thou art mild as matin dew,

A bee it was-for once, I know,
And still, when summer's flowery hue

I heard a rustic call it so.»
Begins to paint the bloomy plain,
We hear thy sweet prophetic strain;

has sported moro diffusely on the same subject. The poem to which Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear,

I allude begins thus: And bless the notes and thee revere!

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slambering The Muscs love thy shrilly tone;

All in his mother's lap; Apollo calls thee all his own;

A gentle bee, wiib bis loud trumpet murmuring,

About bim flew by bap, etc. "T was he who gave that voice to thee, 'T is he who tunes thy minstrelsy,

In Almeloveen's collection of epigrams, there is one by Luxorius Unworn by age's dim decline,

correspondent somewhat with the turn of Anacreon, wbere Love

complains to his mother of being wounded by a rose. The fadeless blooms of youth are thine.

The ode before us is the very flower of simplicity. The infantine Melodious inscct! child of earth!

complainings of the little god, and ibe natural and impressive reflecIn wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth;

tions which they draw from Venus, are beauties of inimitable grace. Exempt from every weak decay,

I hope I shall be pardoned for introducing another Groek Anacreon

tic of Monsieur Menage, not for its similitude to tbe subject of this That withers vulgar frames away;

ode, but for some faint traces of this natural simplicity, which it apWith not a drop of blood to stain

pears to me to bave preservod : The current of thy purer vein; So blest an age is pass'd by thee,

Ερως ποτ' εν χορείαις
Thou seem'st a little deity!

Των παρθενων αυτον
Την μοι φιλης Κορινναν

Ως ειδεν, ώς προς αυτην

Προσεύραμε τραχηλω

Διδυμας τε χειρας απτων Cupid once upon a bed

Φιλει με, μητερ, ειπε. Of roses laid his weary head;

Kaaoupen Koperva

Μητηρ, ερυθριαζει, And chirp thy song with such a glee, etc.) . Some authors have af

Ως παρθενος μεν ουσα. . firmed (says Madame Dacier), that it is only male grasshoppers

Κ' αυτος δε δυσχεραίνων, , which sing, and that the females are silent; and on this circumstance is founded a bon-mot of Senarcbus, the comic poet, who says,

Ως ομμασι πλανηθεις, ειτ' εισιν οι τεττιγες ουκ ευδαιμονες, ών ταις γυναιξιν

Ερως ερυθριαζει. . Quo' 6L OU çuyns eve; are not the grasshoppers happy in

Εγω δε οι παραςας, , having dumb wives 1', This note is originally Henry Stephen's ;

Μη δυσχέραινε, φημι. but I chose rather to make Madame Dacier my authority for it.

Κυπριν τε και Κοριναν The Muses love thy shrilly tone, etc.) Phile. de Animal. Proprie

Διαγνωσαι ουκ εχουσι lat., calls ibis insect MoUGLIŞ ÇOs, the darling of the Muses; and MouTuy opry, the bird of the Muses; and wo find Plato com

Και οι βλεποντες οξυ. . pared for his eloquence to the grasshopper, in the following panning lines of Timon, preserved by Diogenes Laertius:

As dancing o'er the enameli'd plain,

The flow 'ret of the virgin train, Των παντων δ' ήγειτο πλατυςατος, αλλ' αγορητης

My soul's Corinna, ligbily playa, Ηδυεπης τεττιξιν ισογραφος, οι 9 εκαδημου

Young Cupid saw the graceful maid;

He saw, and in a moment flew, Δενδρεα εφεζομενοι οπα λειριοεσταν εισι. .

And round her neck his arms be threw;

And said, with smiles of infant joy. This last line is borrowed from llomer's Miad, d. where there on

• Oh! kiss me, mother, kiss thy boy!: curs the very same simile.

Unconscious of a mother's name, Melodious insect! child of earth!) Longepierre has quoted the two

The modest virgin blush'd with shame! first lines of an epigram of Antipater, from the first book of the An

And angry Cupid, scarce believing thologia, where be prefers the grasshopper to the swap :

That vision could be so deceiving. Αρχει τεττιγας μεθυσαι δροσος, αλλα πιoντες

Thus to mistake his Cyprian dame,

The little infant Ilush'u wib shame. Αειδειν κυκνων εισι γεγονοτεροι. .

• Be not ashamed, my boy,. I cried,
In dew, that drops from morning's wings,

For I was lingering by his side;
Tbe gay Cicada sipping floats;

• Coriona and thy lovely mother,
And, drunk with dew, bis matin sings

Believe me, are so like each other,
Sweter than any cygaet's notes.

That clearest eyes are oft betrayed,

And take tby Venus for the maid. * Theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in bis nineteenth idyl, but is very inferior, I think, to his original, in delicacy of point and Zitto, in his Cappriciosi Pensieri, has translated this ode of Aganaiveté of expression. Spenser, in one of his smaller compositious, creou.

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