Imágenes de páginas

L'Histoire des Odes d'Anacréon, by Monsieur Gacon ; Rotterdam, 1712.

A translation in English verse, by several hands, 1713, in which the odes by Cowley are inserted.

The edition by Barnes; London, 1721.
The edition by Dr. Trapp, 1733, with a Latin version in elegiac metre.
A translation in English verse, by John Addison, 1735.

A collection of Italian translations of Anacreon, published at Venice, 1736, consisting of those by Corsini, Regvier, Salvini, Marchetti, and one by several anonymous authors.

A translation in English verse, by Fawkes and Dr. Broome, 1760.1
Another, anonymous, 1768.

The edition, by Spaletti, at Rome, 1781; with the fac-simile of the Vatican MS.

The edition by Degen, 1786, who published also a German translation of Anacreon, esteemed the best.

A translation in English verse, by Urquhart, 1787.

The edition by Citoyen Gail, at Paris, seventh year, 1799, with a prose translation.

? This is the most complete of the English translations.



ODE 1.1

But tear away the sanguine string,

For war is not the theme I sing:
I saw the smiling bard of pleasure,
The minstrel of the Teian measure;

Proclaim the laws of festal rite, 4 'Twas in a vision of the night,

I'm monarch of the board to-night;

And all around shall brim as high,
He beamed upon my wandering sight :
I heard his voice, and warmly pressed And quaff the tide as deep as I?
The dear enthusiast to my breast.

And when the cluster's mellowing dews
His tresses wore a silvery dye,

Their warm, enchanting balm infuse,

Our feet shall catch the elastic bound,
But beauty sparkled in his eye;
Sparkled in his eyes of fire,

And reel us through the dance's round.

Oh Bacchus ! we shall sing to thee, Through the mist of soft desire.

In wild but sweet ebriety !
His lip exhaled, whene'er he sighed,

And flash around such sparks of
The fragrance of the racy tide ;
And, as with weak and reeling feet,


As Bacchus could alone have taught !
He came my cordial kiss to meet,
An infant of the Cyprian band

Then give the harp of epic song,

Which Homer's finger thrilled along;
Guided him on with tender hand.
Quick from his glowing brows he drew But tear away the sanguine string,

For war is not the theme I sing !
His braid, of many a wanton hue;
I took the braid of wanton twine,
It breathed of him and blushed with

I hung it o'er my thoughtless brow, LISTEN to the Muse's lyre,
And ah ! I feel its magic now !3 Master of the pencil's fire !
I feel that even his garland's touch

Sketched in painting's bold display,
Can make the bosom love too much !

Many a city first portray ;
Many a city, revelling free,

Warm with loose festivity.

Picture then a rosy train,
GIVE me the harp of epic song,

Bacchants straying o'er the plain ; Which Homer's finger thrilled along ; Piping, as they roam along,

1 This ode is the first of the series in the Vatican 3 This idea, as Longepierre remarks, is in an manuscript, which attributes it to no other poet epigram of the seventh book of the Anthologia : than Anacreon. They who assert that the manu

Εξοτε μοι πινoντι συνεσταουσα Χαρικλω script imputes it to Basilius have been misled by

Λαθρη τους ιδιους αμφεβαλε στεφανους, , the words in the margin, which are merely in

Πυρ ολοον δαπτει με. tended as a title to the following ode. Whether

While I unconscious quaffed my wine, it be the production of Anacreon or not, it has all the features of ancient simplicity, and is a beauti

'Twas then thy fingers slyly stole ful imitation of the poet's happiest manner.

Upon my brow that wreath of thine, 2 The eyes that are humid and fluctuating show

Which since has maddened all my soul ! a propensity to pleasure and love; they bespeak, * The ancients prescribed certain laws of too, à mind of integrity and beneficence, a gene- drinking at their festivals, for an account of rosity of disposition, and a genius for poetry. which see the commentators. Anacreon here

Baptista Porta tells us some strange opinions acts the symposiarch, or master of the festival. of the ancient physiognomists on this subject, 5 La Fosse has thought proper to lengthen their reasons for which were curious, and perhaps this poem by considerable interpolations of his not altor ther fanciful.-Vide Physingnom. Jo- own, which he thinks are indispensably neceshan. Baptist. Porte.

sary to the completion of the description.

[ocr errors][merged small]

Roundelay or shepherd-song.

Paint me next, if painting may
Such a theme as this portray,

GRAVE me a cup with brilliant grace, All the happy heaven of love,

Deep as the rich and holy vase,
These elect of Cupid prove.

Which on the shrine of Spring reposes,
When shepherds hail that hour of roses.
Grave it with themes of chaste design,
Formed for a heavenly bowl like mine.

Display not there the barbarous rites

In which religious zeal delights ;

any tale of tragic fate, VULCAN! hear your glorious task ;

Which history trembles to relate ! I do not from your labours ask

No-cull thy fancies from above, In gorgeous panoply to shine,

Themes of heaven and themes of love. For war was ne'er à sport of mine.

Let Bacchus, Jove's ambrosial boy, No-let me have a silver bowl,

Distil the grape in drops of joy ; Where I may cradle all my soul; And while

he smiles at every tear, But let not o'er its simple frame

Let warm-eyed Venus, dancing near, Your mimic constellations flame;

With spirits of the genial bed, Nor grave upon the swelling side

The dewy herbage deftly tread. Orion, scowling o'er the tide.

Let Love be there, without his arms, I care not for the glittering wain, In timid nakedness of charms ; Nor yet the weeping sister train.

And all the Graces linked with Love, But oh! let vines luxuriant roll Their blushing tendrils round the bowl. While rosy boys, disporting round,

Blushing through the shadowy grove, While many a rose-lipped bacchant In circlets trip the velvet ground; maid?

But ah! if there Apollo toys,
Is culling clusters in their shade.

I tremble for my rosy boys !
Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes,
Wildly press the gushing grapes ;
And flights of loves, in wanton ringlets,

Flit around on golden winglets ;
While Venus, to her mystic bower, As late I sought the spangled bowers,
Beckons the rosy vintage-Power. To cull a wreath of matin flowers,

1 This is the ode which Aulus Gellius tells us 4 An allusion to the fable that Apollo had was performed by minstrels at an entertainment killed his beloved boy Hyacinth while playing where he was present.

with him at quoits. This,' says La Fosse, 'is % I have given this according to the Vatican assuredly the sense of the text, and it cannot manuscript, in which the ode concludes with admit of any other.' the following lines, not inserted accurately in The Italian translators, to save themselves any of the editions :

the trouble of a note, have taken the liberty of Ποιησον αμπελους μου

making Anacreon explain this fable. Thus SalΚαι βοτρυας κατ' αυτων

vini, the most literal of any of them :
Και μαιναδας τρυγωσας, ,
Ποιει δε ληνον οινου,

Ma con lor non giuochi Apollo;

Che in fiero risco
Αηνοβατας πατουντας, ,

Col duro disco
Τους σατυρους γελωντας, ,
Και χρυσους τους ερωτας,

A Giacinto fiaccò il collo.

, Και Γυθερην γελωσαν, , Oμου καλη Λυαιω,

5 The Vatican MS. pronounces this beautiful Ερωτα κΑφροδιτην.

fiction to be the genuine offspring of Anacreon, 3 Degen thinks that this ode is a more modern It has all the features of the parent: imitation of the preceding. There is a poem by

et facile insciis Cælius Calcagninus, in the manner of both, where

Noscitetur ab omnibus. he gives instructions about the making of a ring: Tornabis annulum mihi

The commentators, however, have attributed it Et fabre, et apte, et commode, etc. etc. to Julian, a royal poet.

« AnteriorContinuar »