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To sparkle with that smile divine;
And, like my heart, I then should be
Reflecting thee, and only thee!

Or were I, love, the robe which flows
O'er every charm that secret glows,
In many a lucid fold to swim,
And cling and grow to every limb!
Oh! could I, as the streamlet's wave,
Thy warmly-mellowing beauties lave,
Or float as perfume on thine hair,
And breathe my soul in fragrance there!
I wish I were the zone that lies

Warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs!
Or like those envious pearls that show
So faintly round that neck of snow;
Yes, I would be a happy gem,
Like them to hang, to fade like them.
What more would thy Anacreon be?
Oh! any thing that touches thee.

Nay, sandals for those airy feet

Thus to be press'd by thee were sweet!

fastidious conjectures upon which some commentators have presumed so far. Degen thinks it spurious, and De Pauw pronounces it to be miserable. Longepierre and Barnes refer us to several imitations of this ode, from which I shall only select an epigram of Dionysius;

Ειθ' ανεμος γενόμην,

συ δε γε στείχουσα παρ' αυγας,

Στεθεα γυμνώσαις, και με πνεοντα λαβοις.
Είθε ῥόδον γενομην ὑποπορφυρον, οφρα με χερσιν
Αραμενη, κομίσαις στεθεσι χιονεοις.

Είθε κρινον γενομην λευκοχροον, οφρα με χερσιν
Αραμένη, μαλλον της χροτιης κορέσης.

I wish I could like zephyr steal
To wanton o'er thy mazy vest;
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom veil,
And take me panting to thy breast!

I wish I might a rose-bud grow,

And thou wouldst cull me from the bower,

And place me on that breast of snow,
Where I should bloom, a wintry flower!

I wish I were the lily's leaf,

To fade upon that bosom warm;

There I should wither, pale and brief,

The trophy of thy fairer form!

Allow me to add, that Plato has expressed as fanciful a wish in a distich preserved by Laërtius:

Αστερας εισαθρεις, αστηρ εμος. είθε γενοίμην
Ουρανος. ὡς πολλοις όμμασιν εις σε βλεπω·

TO STELLA.

Why dost thou gaze upon the sky?

Oh! that I were that spangled sphere,

And every star should be an eye

To wonder on thy beauties here!

Apuleius quotes this epigram of the divine philosopher, to justify himself for his verses on Critias and Charinus. See his Apology, where he also adduces the example of Anacreon; "Fecere tamen et alii talia, et si vos ignoratis, apud Græcos Teius quidam, &c., &c.

I wish I were the zone that lies

Warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs] This raw was a riband, or band, called by the Romans fascia and strophium, which the women wore for the purpose of restraining the exuberance of the bosom, Vide Polluc. Onomast. Thus Martial:

Fascia crescentes dominæ compesce papillas.

The women of Greece not only wore this zone, but condemned themselves to fasting, and made use of certain drugs and powders for the same purpose. To these expedients they were compelled, in consequence of their inelegant fashion of compressing the waist into a very narrow compass, which necessarily caused an excessive tumidity in the bosom. See Dioscorides,

lib. v.

Nay, sandals for those airy feet

Thus to be press'd by thee were sweet!] The sophist Philostratus, in one of his love-letters, has borrowed this thought; ω αδετοι πόδες. ω καλλος ελεύθερος. Ο τρισευδαίμων εγω "Oh lovely feet! oh excellent beauty! oh! thrice happy and και μακαριος εαν πατήσετε με. blessed should I be, if you would but tread on me!" In Shakspeare, Romeo desires to be a glove:

Oh! that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might kiss that cheek!

And, in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with an idea somewhat like that of the thirteenth
Jine:

I OFTEN wish this languid lyre,
This warbler of my soul's desire,
Could raise the breath of song sublime,
To men of fame, in former time.
But when the soaring theme I try,
Along the chords my numbers die,
And whisper, with dissolving tone,
"Our sighs are given to Love alone!"
Indignant at the feeble lay,

I tore the panting chords away,
Attuned them to a nobler swell,
And struck again the breathing shell;
In all the glow of epic fire,
To Hercules I wake the lyre!
But still its fainting sighs repeat,
"The tale of Love alone is sweet!"
Then fare thee well, seductive dream,
That mad'st me follow Glory's theme;
For thou, my lyre, and thou, my heart,
Shall never more in spirit part;
And thou the flame shalt feel as well
As thou the flame shalt sweetly tell!

ODE XXIV.2

To all that breathe the airs of heaven,
Some boon of strength has Nature given.
When the majestic bull was born,
She fenced his brow with wreathed horn.
She arm'd the courser's foot of air,
And wing'd with speed the panting hare.

He, spying her, bounced in, where as he stood,

"O'Jove!" quoth she, "why was not I a flood?"

In Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, that whimsical farrago of "all such reading as was never read," there is a very old translation of this ode, before 1632. "Englished by Mr. B. Holiday, in his Technog. act 1, scene 7.

1 This ode is the first in the series of all the editions, and is thought to be peculiarly designed as an introduction to the rest; it however characterizes the genius of the Teian but very inadequately, as wine, the burden of his lays, is not even mentioned in it.

--cum multo Venerem confundere mero Praecepit Lyrici Teia Musa senis.

Ovid.

The twenty-sixth Ode, ou μev Reyes tα Onẞns, might, with as much propriety, be the harbinger of his songs.

Bion has expressed the sentiments of the ode before us with much simplicity in his fourth idyl. I have given it rather paraphrastically; it has been so frequently translated, that I could not otherwise avoid triteness and repetition.

In all the glow of epic fire,

To Hercules I wake the lyre!] Madame Dacier generally translates von into a lute, which I believe is rather inaccurate. "D'expliquer la lyre des anciens (says Monsieur Sorel) par un luth, c'est ignorer la différence qu'il y a entre ces deux instrumens de musique." Bibliothèque Française.

But still its fainting sighs repeat,

"The tale of Love alone is sweet!"] The word avregovat, in the original, may imply that kind of musical dialogue practised by the ancients, in which the lyre was made to respond to the questions proposed by the singer. This was a method which Sappho used, as we are told by Hermogenes: “ όταν την λύραν ερωτα Σαπφώ, και όταν αυτη αποκρίνηται.” Περι Ιδεων. Τομ. δευτ.

2 Henry Stephens has imitated the idea of this ode in the following lines of one of his poems. Provida dat cunctis Natura animantibus arma,

Et sua fœmineum possidet arma genus,

Ungulaque ut defendit equum, atque ut cornua taurum,

Armata est forma fœmina pulchra sua.

And the same thought occurs in those lines, spoken by Corisca in Pastor Fido:

La forza del leone

E l'ingegno de l'huomo.

The lion boasts his savage powers,

And lordly man his strength of mind;
But beauty's charm is solely ours,
Peculiar boon, by Heaven assign'd!

"An elegant explication of the beauties of this ode (says Degen) may be found in Grimm in den Anmerkk. Ueber einige Oden des Anakr.'

She gave the lion fangs of terror,
And, on the ocean's crystal mirror,
Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng
To trace their liquid path along;
While for the umbrage of the grove,
She plumed the warbling world of love.
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 eyes,
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!

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!

To man she gave the flame refined,

1 had

The spark of Heaven - a thinking mind!] In my first attempt to translate this ode, interpreted poovua, with Baxter and Barnes, as implying courage and military virtue; 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 rest which Nature has distributed, it is perhaps even refining upon the delicacy of the compliment, to prefer the radiance of female charms to the cold illumination of wisdom and prudence; and to think that women's eyes are

-the books, the academies,

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.

She gave thee beauty-shaft of eyes,

That every shaft of war outflies!] Thus Achilles Tatius: zalloc ośvregov tirowozu ßeλους, και δια των οφθαλμων εις την ψυχην καταρρει. Οφθαλμος γαρ οδος ερωτική τραυ ματι. Beauty wounds more swiftly than the arrow, and passes through the eye to the very soul; for the eye is the inlet to the wounds of love." Woman! be fair, we must adore thee!

66

Smile, and a world is weak before thee!] Longepierre's remark here is very ingenious: "The Romans," says he, "were so convinced of the power of beauty, that they used a word implying strength in the place of the epithet beautiful. Thus Plautus, act 2, scene 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 has imitated both in one poem, beginning Perch' io pianga al tuo canto Rondinella importuna, &c.

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 cited by Longepierre from the Anthologia:

Αιει μοι δυνει μην εν ουασιν ήχος ερωτος,

Όμμα δε σιγα ποθοις το γλυκυ δακρυ φέρει.

Ουδ ̓ ἡ νυξ, ου φεγγος εκοιμισεν, αλλ' ύπο φιλτρων
Ηδε που κραδίη γνωστος ενεστι τυπος.

Ω πτανοι, μη και ποτ' εφιπτασθαι μεν ερωτες
Οιδατ', αποπτηναι δ' ουδ' όσον ισχνετε;

"Tis Love that marmurs in my breast,
And makes me shed the secret tear;
Nor day nor night my heart has rest,
For night and day his voice I hear.

A wound within my heart I find,

And oh! 'tis plain where Love has been;

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!

For still be leaves a wound behind,
Such as within my heart is seen.

Oh bird of Love! with song so drear,
Make not my soul the nest of pain;
Oh! let the wing which brought thee here,

In pity waft thee hence again!

1"The German poet Uz has imitated this ode. Compare also Weisse Scherz. Lieder. lib. iii. der Soldat. Gail, Degen.

No-from an eye of liquid blue,

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

Ου με λέληθας,

Τοξοτα, Ζηνοφίλας όμμασι κρυπτομενος.
Archer Love! though slily creeping,
Well I know where thou dost lie;

I saw thee through the curtain peeping,
That fringes Zenuphelia's eye.

The poets abound with conceits on the archery of the eyes, but few have turned the thought 60 naturally as Anacreon. Ronsard gives to the eyes of his mistress "un petit camp d'amours.' 2 This ode forms a part of the preceding in the Vatican MS. but I have conformed to the editions in translating them separately.

"Compare with this (says Degen) the poem of Ramler Wahrzeichen der Liebe, in Lyr. Blumenlese, lib. iv. p. 313.

But in the lover's glowing eyes,

The inlet to his bosom lies.] "We cannot see into the heart," 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 amant,

Il cache en vain son tourment, 'A le trahir tout conspire,

Through them we see the small faint mark,
Where Love has dropp'd his burning spark!

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 flame,
The crested Lord of battles came;
"Twas 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 may'st prove,
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!"

Sa langueur, son embarras,
Tout ce qu'il peut faire ou dire,
Même ce qu'il ne dit pas.

In vain the lover tries to veil
The flame which 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 silence speaks e'en more than they.

This ode is referred to by La Mothe le Vayer, who, I believe, was the author of that curious little work, called "Hexameron Rustique.

He makes use of this, as well as the thir

ty-fifth, in his ingenious but indelicate explanation of Homer's Cave of the Nymphs. Journée Quatrième.

And Love (alas! the victim-heart)

Tinges with gall the burning dart.] Thus Claudian

Labuntur gemini fontes, hic 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 these, if we may take the tale from fame,
The son of Venus dips his darts of flame.

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

venies.

-ferus et Cupido

Semper ardentes acuens sagittas

Cote cruenta.

And Cupid, sharpening all his fiery darts
Upon a whetstone stain'd with blood of hearts.

Secundus has borrowed this, but has somewhat softened the image by the omission of the epithet "cruenta."

Fallor an ardentes acuebat cote sagittas. Eleg. 1.

Yes-loving is a painful thrill.

And not to love more painful still, &c.] Monsieur Menage, in the following Anacreontic, enforces the necessity of loving: