Thus be spoke, and she the while

As lulld in slumber I was laid,
Heard him with a soothing smile;

Bright visions o'er my fancy play'd !
Then said, « My infant, if so much

With virgins, blooming as the dawn,
Thou feel the little wild bee's touch,

I seem'd to trace the opening lawn;
llow must the heart, ah, Cupid ! be,

Light, on tiptoe bathed in dew,
The hapless heart that 's stung by thee!,

We flew, and sported as we flew!
Some ruddy striplings, young and sleck,

With blush of Bacchus on their cheek,

Saw me trip the flowery wild
If hoarded gold possess'd a power

With dimpled girls, and slyly smiled

Smiled indeed with wanton glee;
To lengthen life's too fleeting hour,

But ah!'t was plain they envied me.
And purchase from the hand of death

And still I flew-and now I caught
A little span, a moment's breath,

The panting nymphs, and fondly thought
How I would love the precious ore!

To kiss—when all my dream of joys,
And every day should swell my store;

Dimpled girls and ruddy boys,
That when the Fates would send their minion,

All were gone! • Alas!, I said,
To waft me off on shadowy pinion,

Sighing for the illusions fled,
I might some hours of life obtain,

Sleep! again my joys restore,
And bribe bim back to hell again.

Oh! let me dream them o'er and o'er!,
But, since we ne'er can charm away
The mandate of that awful day,
Why do we vainly weep at fate,

And sigh for life's uncertain date?

Let us drain the nectar'd bowl,
The light of gold can ne'er illume
The dreary midnight of the tomb!

Let us raise the song of soul
And why should I then pant for treasures?

To him, the god who loves so well
Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures ;

The nectar'd bowl, the choral swell'
The goblet rich, the board of friends,

Him, who instructs the sons of earth,
Whose flowing souls the goblet blends!

To thrid the tangled dance of mirth;
Mine be the nymph whose form reposes

Him, who was nursed with infant Love,
Seductive on that bed of roses;

And cradled in the Papbian grove;
And oh! be mine the soul's excess,

Him, that the snowy Queen of Charms

las fondled in her twining arms. Expiring in her warm caress!

the cause of the severe reprehension which I believe he suffered for

his Anacreon. - Fuit olim fateor (says he, in a note upon Longinus), ODE XXXVII.?

cum Sappbonem amabam. Sed ex quo illa me perditissima famina

pene miserum perdidit cam sceleratissimo suo congerrone (Anacre*T was night, and many a circling bowl

ootem dico, si nescis Lector), noli sperare, etc. etc. lle adduces op Had deeply warm'd my swimming soul;

tbis ode the authority of Plato, wbo allowed ebriely, at ibe Dionysian festivals, to men arrived at their fortieth year. He likewise

quotes the following line from Alexis, wbich he says no one, wbo is " Monsieur Fontenelle has translated this oile, in his dialogue be

not totally ignorant of the world, can besitate to confess the truth of: tween Anacreon and Aristotle in the sbades, where he bestows the prize of wisdom opon the poet.

Ουδεις φιλοποτης εςιν ανθρωπος κακος. . • The German imitators of it are, Lessing, in his poem 'Gestern

No lover of drinking was ever a vicious man.” Bräder, etc.' Gleim, in the ode . An den Todd,' and Schmidt, in der

when all my dream of joys, Poet. Bluroenl. Gotting. 1783, p. 7.9-Degen.

Dimpled girls an. rudey boys, That when the Fates would send their minion,

All were gone.') Nonnus ways of Baccbus, almost in the same words To veft me off on shalowy pinion, etc.) The commentators, who that Anacreon uses, are so fond of disputing • de lana caprina, - have been very busy on

Εγρομενος δε the authority of the phrase ιν' αν θανειν επελθη. The reading of iv' av OAVUTOS EREOn, which Do Modenbach proposes in bis

Παρθενoν ουκ' εκιχησε, και ηθελεν αυθις ταυειν. Amenitates Litterariæ, was already binted by Le Fevre, who seldom

Waking, he lost the phantom's charms, suggests any thing worth notice.

He found no beauty in his arms, The goblet rieh, the board of friends,

Again to slumber he essayed, Whose flowing svuls the goblet blends !] This communion of friend

Again to clasp the shadowy maid ! LONGEPIERRE ship, which sweetened the bowl of Anacreon, has not been forgotten Sleep! again my jays restore, by the author of the following scholium, where the blessings of life Oh ! let me dream tirem o'er and o'er!.) Dr Jobpson, in his proface ure enumerated with proverbial simplicity. Yyelolvav Pecv to Sbakspeare, animadverting upon the commentators of that poet, sov av pe 9V7top. Asutepov de, xahoy quriy yeverone. imitation of some ancient poet, alludes in the following words to the

w bo pretendeu, in every little coincidence of thought to detect an To tpetov dE, THOUTELV adows. KZL TO TETAPTO", line of Anacreon boforo us : « I have been told that when Caliban, συνηθαν μετα των φιλων.

after a pleasing dream, says, I tried to sleep again,' ibe author

imitates Apacreon, who had, like any other man, the same wish on Of mortal blessings here, the first is health,

the same occasion. And next, those charms by which the eye we move;

1. Compare with this beautiful ode the verses of Hagedorn, lib. The third is wealth, unwounding, guiltless wealth,

v, das Gesellschaftliche; and of Bürger, p. 51, etc. etc. Degen. And then, an intercourse with those we love!

Him, that the saouy Queen of Charms * - Compare with this ode the beautiful poem, 'der Traum of Uz.'» Has fend'et in her twining arms.] Robertelias, upon the epitha. Depen.

laminm of Catallas, mentions an ingeninas derivation of Cytheræa, Monsieur Le Fevre in a note upon ibis ode, enters into an elabo- the name of Venus, παρα το κευθειν τους έρωτας, which rate and learurd justification of drunkeness; and this is probably seems to hint that. Love's fairy favours are lost, when not concealed,


From him that dream of transport flows,
Which sweet intoxication knows;
With him the brow forgets to darkle,
And brilliant graces learn to sparkle.
Behold! my boys a goblet bear,
Whose sunny foam bedews the air.
Where are now the tear, the sigh?
To the winds they fly, they tly!
Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking,
Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking!
Ob! can the tears we lend to thought
In life's account avail us aught?
Can we discern, with all our lore,
The path we ’re yet to journey o'er ?
No, no, the walk of life is dark,
'Tis wine alone can strike a spark!
Then let me quaff the foamy tide,
And through the dance meandering glide;
Let me imbibe the spicy breath
Of odours chafed to fragrant death ;
Or from the kiss of love inhale
A more voluptuous, richer gale!
To souls 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!

I know that Heaven ordains me here
To run this mortal life's career;
The scenes which I have journey'd o'er
Return no more-alas! no more;
And all the path I've yet to go
I neither know nor ask to know.
Then surely, Care, thou canst not twine
Thy fetters round a soul like mine;
No, no, the heart that feels with me
Can never be a slave to thee!
And oh! before the vital thrill,
Which trembles at my heart, is still,
I'll gather joy's luxurious flowers,
And gild with bliss my fading hours;
Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom,
And Venus dance me to the tomb !


When Spring begems the dewy scene,
How sweet to walk the velvet green,
And hear the Zephyr's languid sighs,
As o'er the scented mead he tlies !
Ilow sweet to mark the pouting vine,
Ready to fall in tears of wine;


How I love the festive boy,
Tripping with the dance of joy!
How I love the mellow sage,
Smiling through the veil of age!
And whene'er this man of years
In the dance of joy appcars,
Age is on his temples hung,
But his heart- his heart is young!

Ne regarder que mon amour.
Peut-être en serez vous émue :
Il est jeune, et n'est que du jour,

Belle Iris, que je vous ai vue.
Fair and young, thou bloomest now,

And I full many a year have told;
But read the heart and not the brow,

Thou shalt not find my love is old.
My love 's a child; and thou canst say

How much bis little age may be,
For be was born the very day

Tbat first I set my eyes on thee!

No, no, the walk of life is dark,

No, no, the heart that feels with me, 'T' is wine alone can strike a spark!) The brevity of life allows Can nerer be a slave to thee!) Longepierre quotes an epigram bere argoments for the voluptuary as well as the moralist. Among many from the Anthologia, on account of the similarity of a particular parallel passages whicb Longepierre has adduced, I shall content pbrase; it is by no means Anacreontic, but has an interesting simmyself with this epigram frou ibo Anthologia:

plicity which induced me to paraphrase it, and may atone for its

intrusion. Λουσαμενοι, Προδικη, πυκασώμεθα, και τον ακρατον Ελκωμεν, κυλικας μειζονας αραμένου.

Ελπις, και συ, τυχη, μεγα χαιρετε' τον λιμεν' εύρον. Ραιος ο χαιροντων εςι βιος. ειτα τα λοιπα Ουδεν εμοι κ' υμιν παιζετε τους μετ' εμε. Γηρας κωλυσει, και το τελος θανατος.

At length to Fortune, and 10 you, of which the following is a loose parapbrase :

Delusive Hope! a last adieu.

The cbarm that once beguiled is o'er,
Fly, my beloved, to yonder stream,

And I bave reach'd my destined shore !
We'll plunge us from the noontide beam!
Then call the rose's humid bud,

Away, away, your flattering arts

May now betray some simpler bearts,
And dip it in our goblet's flood.
Our age of bliss, my nymph, shall fly

And you will smile at their believing,

And they shall weup at your deceiving!
As sweet, though passing, as ibat sich
Wbich seems to whisper o'er your lip.

Bacckus shall bid my winter bloom,
« Come, while you may, of rapture sip.”

And Venus dance me to the tomb!) The same commentator has For age will steal the rosy form,

quoted an epitaph, written upon our poet by Julian, where he makes And chill the pulse, which trembles warm!

him give the precepts of good-fellowship even from the tomb, And death-alas! tbat bearts, which thrill Like yours and mine, should o'er be still!

Πολλακι τοσ αεισα, και εκ τυμβου δε βοησω Age is on his temples kung,

Πινετε, πριν ταυτην αμφιβαλησθε κονιν. But his heart- his heart is young.) Saint Pavin makes the same

This lesson oft in life I sung, distinction in a sonnet to a young girl.

And from my grave I still shall cry,
Je sais bien que les destinées

• Drink, mortal! drink, while time is young
Ont mal compassé nos années ;

Ere death bas made thee cold as I..

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And with the maid whose every sigh
Is love and bliss, entranced to lie
Where the embowering branches meet-
Oh! is not this divinely sweet?


Yes, be the glorious revel mine,
Where humour sparkles from the wine!
Around me let the youthful choir
Respond to my beguiling lyre;
And while the red cup circles round,
Mingle in soul as well as sound!
Let the bright nymph, with treinbling eye,
Beside me all in blushes lie;
And, while she weaves a frontlet fair
Of hyacinth to deck my hair,
Oh! let me snatch her sidelong kisses,
And that shall be my bliss of blisses !
My soul, to festive feeling true,


envy never knew; And little has it learn'd to dread The gall that Envy's tongue can shed. Away-I hate the slanderous dart Which steals to wound the unwary heart; And oh! I hate, with all my soul, Discordant clamours o'er the bowl, Where every cordial heart should be Attuned to peace and harmony. Come, let us hear the soul of song Expire the silver harp along : And through the dance's ringlet move, With maidens mellowing into love; Thus simply happy, thus at peace, Sure such a life should never cease!

With many a cup and many a smile The festal moments we beguile. And while the harp, impassion'd, flings Tuncful rapture from the strings, Some airy nymph, with fluent limbs, Through the dance luxuriant swims, Waving, in lier snowy hand, The leafy Bacchanalian wand, Which, as the tripping wanton flies, Shakes its tresses to her sighs! A youth, the while, with loosen'd hair Floating on the listless air, Sings, to the wild harp's tender tone, A tale of woes, alas! his own; And then, what nectar in his sigh, As o'er his lips the murmurs die! Surely never yet has been So divine, so blest a scene! Ilas Cupid left the starry spherc, To wave his golden tresses here? Oh yes! and Venus, queen of wiles, And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, All, all are here, to hail with me The Genius of Festivity!


While our rosy fillets shed Blushes o'er each fervid head,

And with the maid, whose every sigh
Is love and bliss, etc.) Thus Horace:

Quid babes illius, illius
Qure spirabat amores,
Quæ me surpuerat mihi.
And does there then remain but this,

And hast thou lost each rosy ray
Of ber, who breathed the soul of bliss,

And stole me from myself away? The character of Anacreon is bere very strikingly depicted. llis lore of social, harmonized pleasures is expressed with a warmih, amiable and endearing. Among the epigrams imputed to Anacreon is the following; it is tbe only one worth translation, and it breathos the same sentiments with this ode: Ου φιλος, ος κρητηρι παρα πλεω οινοποταζων,

Νεικεα και πολεμον δακρυοεντα λεγει. ,
Αλλ' οςις Μουσεων τε, και αγλαα δωρ' Αφροδιτης
Ευμμισγων, ερατης μνησκεται ευφροσυνης.
When to the lip the brimming cup is pressd,

And bearts are all afloat upon the stream,
Then bapish from my board the unpolish'd guest

Who makes the feats of war bis barbarous theme.
But bring the man, who o'er his goblet wreathes

The Nuse's laurel with the Cyprian flower:
Ob! give me him whose heart expansive breathos

All the refinements of the social hour.

And while the harp, impassion'd, flings

Tunesu! rupture from the strings, etc.) On the barbiton a host of authorities may be collected, which, after all, leave us ignorant of the nature of the instrument. There is scarcely any point upon which we are so totally uninformed as the music of the ancients. The authors (a) extant upon the subject are, I imagine, little understood; but certainly if one of their moods was a progression by quartertopex, which we are told was the nature of the epharmonic scale, simplicity was by no means the cbaracteristic of their melody, for ibis is a nicety of progression of which modern music is not suscep tible.

The invention of the barbiton is, by Atbenæus, attributed to Anacreon. See his fourth book, where it is called TO EUprus TOU AvaxpEOVTOS. Neanthes of Cyzicus, as quoted by Gyraldus, asserts the same. Vide Chabot, in Horat. on the words Les boum barbiton, . in the first ode.

And then, what nectar in his sighn

As o'er his lip the murmurs die!) Longepierre has quoted bere an epigram from the Aotbologia :

Κουρη τις μ' εφιλησε ποθεσπερα χείλεσιν υγροις. Νεκταρ εην το φιλημα, το γαρ ςομα νεκταρος επνει. Νυν κεθυωτό φιλημα, πολυν τον ερωτα πεπωκως. Of wbich the following may give some idea :

The kiss that she left on my lip

Like a dew-drop sball lingering lie; 'T was nectar she gave me to sip,

'T was nectar I drank in ber sigh!
The dew that distill'd in tbat kiss,

To my soul was voluptuous wine;
Ever since it is drunk with the bliss,

And feels a delirium divine !
Has Cupid left the starry sphere,

To wave his gollen tresses here?; The introduction of tbese deities to the festival is merely allegorical. Madame Dacier thinks that the poet describes a masquerade, where these deities were personated hy the company in musks. The translation will copform with either idea.

All, all are here, to hail with me

The Genius of Festivity!! kw.os, the deity or genius of mirth. Philostratus, in the third of bis pictures (as all the annotators hare observed) gives a very beautiful description of this god.

(a) Collected by Meibomius.

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ODE XLVI. Buds of roses, virgin flowers,

See, the young, the rosy Spring, Cull'd from Cupid's balmy bowers,

Gives to the breeze her spangled wing; In the bowl of Bacchus steep,

While virgin Graces, warm with May, Till with crimson drops they weep!

Fling roses o'er her dewy way! Twine the rose, the garland twine,

The murmuring billows of the deep Every leaf distilling wine ;

Have languish'd into silent sleep; Drink and smile, and learn to think

And mark! the flitting sea-birds lave That we were born to smile and drink.

Their plumes in the reflecting wave; Rose! thou art the sweetest flower

While cranes from hoary winter fly That ever drank the amber shower;

To slutter in a kinder sky. Rose! thou art the fondest child

Now the genial star of day Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild !

Dissolves the murky clouds away; Even the gods, who walk the sky,

And cultured field, and winding streain, Are amorous of thy scented sigh.

Are sweetly tissued by his beam. Cupid too, in Paphian shades,

Now the earth prolific swells His hair with rosy fillet braids,

With leafy buds and flowery bells; When, with the blushing naked Graces,

Gemming shoots the olive twine, The wanton winding dance he traces.

Clusters ripe festoon the vine; Then bring me showers of roses, bring,

All along the branches creeping, And shed them round me while I sing;

Through the velvet foliage peeping, Great Bacchus! in thy hallow'd shade,

Little infant fruits we see
With some celestial, glowing maid,

Nursing into luxury!
While gales of roses round me rise,
In perfume sweeten'd by her sighs,
I'll bill and twine in early dance,

Commingling soul with every glance!

'T is true, my fading years decline,

Yet I can quaff the brimming wine
Within this goblet, rich and deep,

The fastidious affectation of some commentators has denounced

this ode as spurious. Degen pronounces the four last lines to be I cradle all my woes to sleep.

the patch-work of some miserable versificator, and Brunck condemns Why should we breathe the sigh of fear,

the whole ode. It appears to me to bo elegantly graphical ; full Or pour the unavailing tear ?

of delicate expressions and luxuriant imagery. The abruptness of For Death will never heed the sigh,

Ιδε πως εαρος φανεντος is striking and spirited, and has Nor soften at the tearful eye;

been imitated rather languidly by Horace :

Vides ut alia stet nive candidum
And eyes that sparkle, cyes that weep,

Must all alike be seal'd in sleep :
Then let us never vainly stray,

The imperative cos is infinitely more impressive, as in Shak

speare, In search of thorns, from pleasure's way;

But luok, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Oh ! let us quaff the rosy wave

Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. Which Bacchus loves, which Bacchus gave;

There is a simple and poetical description of Spring, in Catullus's And in the goblet, rich and deep,

beautiful farewell to Bithynia. Carm. 44. Cradle our crying woes to sleep!

Barnes conjectures, in his life of our poet, that this odo was writ

ten after ho bad returned from Athens, to settle in his paternal 'This spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose ; and again, in the seat at Teos; there, in a little villa at some distance from the city, fifty-fifth ode, we shall find our author rich in the praises of that which commanded a view of the Ægean Sea and the islands, he conAower. In a fragment of Sappho, in the romance of Achilles Tatias, templated the beauties of nature, and enjoyed the felicities of retire10 which Barnes refors us, the rose is very elegantly styled the eye ment. Vide Barnes, in Anac. vita, sect. xxxv. This supposition, howof flowers ;" and the same poetess, in another fragment, calls the ever unauthenticated, forms a pleasant association, which makes the favours of the Muse - the roses of Pieria. See the notes on the fifty- poem more interesting. fifth ode.

Monsieur Chevreau says that Gregory Nazianzenus has paraphras• Compare with this forty-fourth ode (says the German annotator) ed somewhere this description of Spring : I cannot find it. See Chethe beautiful ode of Uz die Rose.

vreau, OEuvres Mélées.

Compare with this ode (says Degen) the verses of Hagedorn, book When with the blushing, naked Graces, The wanton winding dance he traces.] « This sweet idea of Love

fourth der Frühling, and book fifth der Mai. dancing with the Graces, is almost peculiar to Anacreon..-Degen. While virgin Graces, warm with May, With some celestial glowing maid, etc.) The epithet Ba@vxOATOS; sprovelv, - the roses display their graces

. This is not ubinge

Fling roses o'er her dewy way!) De Pauw reads, Xapituspood which he gives to the nymph, is literally · full-bosomed:, if this

nious; bat we lose by it the beauty of the personification, to the was really Anacreon's taste, the heaven of Mahomet would suit him

boldness of which Regnier has objected very frivolously. in every particular. See the Koran, cap. 72. Then let us never vainly stray,

The murmuring billows of the deep

Have languis n'd into silent sleep, etc.] It has been justly remarked In search of thorns, from Pleasure's way, etc.) I bave thus endeavoured to convey the meaning of te os tov Blow ThZYW.21; expressive of the tranquillity which it describes.

that the liquid Row of the line απαλυνεται γαληνη is perfectly according to Regnier's paraphrase of the line : E che val, fuor della strada

And cultured field, and winding stream, etc.) By Bpotwepya, Del piacere alma e gradita,

« the works of men,- (says Baxter,) he means cities, temples, and Vanoggiare in questa vita ? towns, which are then illuminated by the beams of the sun.

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,
Thou shalt behold this vigorous hand
Not faltering on the bacchant's wand,
But brandishing a rosy flask,
The only thyrsus e'er I 'll ask !
Let those who pant for Glory's charms
Embrace her in the field of arıns;
While my inglorious placid soul
Breathes not a wish beyond the bowl.
Then fill it high, my ruddy slave,
And bathe me in its honied wave!
For, though my fading years decay,
And though my bloom has 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 all again!

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!
'T is surely something sweet, I think,
Nay, something heavenly sweet, to drink!
Sing, sing of love, let Music's breath
Softly beguile our rapturous death,
While, my young Venus, thou and I
To the voluptuous cadence die !
Then waking from our languid trance,
Again we 'll sport, again we 'll dance.

ODE L. ?

When I drink, I feel, I feel
WHEN my thirsty soul I sleep,

Visions of poetic zeal ! Every sorrow 's lull'd to sleep.

Warm with the goblet's freshening dews, Talk of monarchs! I am then

My heart invokes the heavenly Muse. Richest, happiest, first of men;

When I drink, my sorrow 's o'er; Careless o'er my cup I sing,

I think of doubts and fears no more; Fancy makes me more than king,

But scatter to the railing wind Gives me wealthy Cræsus' store :

Each gloomy phantom of the mind! Can I, can I, wish for more?

When I drink, the jesting boy,
On my velvet couch reclining,

Bacchus himself, partakes my joy;
Ivy leaves my brow entwining,
While my soul dilates with glee,

" This, the preceding ode, and a few more of the same character, What are kings and crowns to ine?

are merely chansons à boire. Most likely they were the effusions of Jf before my feet they lay,

the moment of onviviality, and were sung, we imagine, with rapI would spurn them all away!

tore in Greece; but that interesting association by which they always

recalled the convivial emotions that produced them, can be very litArm you, arm you, men of might,

tle felt by the most enthusiastic reader; and much less by a phlegmaHasten to the sanguine fight;

tic grammarian, who sees nothing in them but dialects and particles. Let me, oh, my budding vine!

Who, with the sunshine of the bowl, Spill no other blood than thine.

Thaws the winter of our soul.) Avalos is the title which he gives Yonder brimming goblet see,

to Bacchus in the original. li is a curious circumstance, that PluThat alone shall vanquish me;

tarch mistook the name of Levi among the Jews for ASül (one of Oh! I think it sweeter far

the bacchanal cries), and accordingly supposed that they worshipped

Bacchus. To fall in banquer than in war!

* Faber thinks this spurious; but, I believe, be is singular in bis opinion. It has all the spirit of our author. Like the wreath which

be presented in the dream, it smells of Anacreon. Bul brandishing a rosy Nask, etc.) Acxos was a kind of leathern

The form of this ode, in the original, is remarkable. It is a kind vessel for wine, very much in use; as should seem by the proverb of song of seveo quatrain stanzas, each beginning with the line atxos xal Juhanos, which was applied to those who were intemperate in eating and drinking. This proverb is mentioned in

οτ’ εγω πιω τον οινον. somo verses quoted by Athenæus, from tho Hesiono of Alexis.

The first stanza alone is incomplete, consisting but of three lines. The only thyrsus c'er I'll ask !] Phornutus assigns as a reason for • Compare with ibis poem (says Degen) ibe verses of Hagedora, the consecration of the thyrsus to Bacchus, that inebrioty ofton reo

lib. v der Wein, wbere that divine poet bas wastoned in the praises ders the support of a stick very necessary.

of wine.. lvy leaves my brow entwining, etc.) • The ivy was consecrated to

When I drink, I feel, I feel Bacchus (says Montfaucon), because he formerly lay hid under that

Visions of poetic zeal!) - Avacreon is not the only one (says Longetree, or, as others will have it, because its leaves resemble those of pierre) whom wine bas inspired with poetry. There is an epigram ho vine.. Other reasons for its consecration, and the use of it in gar

in the first book of the Anthologia, which begins thus : lands at banquets, may be found in Longepierre, Barnes, etc. etc.

Οινος του χαριεντι μέγας πελει ιππος αοιδω, Arm yo, arm you, men of mighe,

Υδωρ δε πινων, καλον ου τεκoις επος.»
Hasten to the sanguine fight.) I have adopted the interpretation of
Rognier and others:

If with water you 6]l up your glasses,

You'll dever write any thing wise;
Altri segua Marte fero;

For wine is the horse of Parnassus,
Cbe sol Bacco è 'l mio coo forto.

Which hurries a bard to the skies!

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