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But wine shall gush in every rill, And yet, oh bard! thou art vot mute And every fount be milky showers. in death, ,
Still, still we catch thy lyre's delicious Thus, shade of him whom Nature
And still thy songs of soft Bathylla To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure,
bloom, Who gave to love his warmest thought, Green as the ivy round the mouldering Who gave to love his fondest mea- tomb! sure !
Nor yet has death obscured thy fire of Thus, after death, if spirits feel,
love, Thou mayst, from odours round thee Still, still it lights thee through the streaming, ,
Elysian grove :
And dreams are thine that bless the A pulse of past enjoyment steal,
elect alone, And live again in blissful dreaming!
And Venus calls thee, even in death,
her own! Του αυτου, εις τον αυτον.
Του αυτου, εις τον αυτον. Τυμβος Ανακρείοντος. o Τηϊος ενθαδε Ξεινε, ταφον παρα λιτον Ανακρειοντος
αμειβων Εύδει, χη παιδων ζωροτατη μανιη.
Ετ τι τοι εκ βιβλων ηλθεν εμων οφελος, Ακμην λειριοεντι μελιζεται αμφι Βαθυλλα Σπεισον εμη σπoδιη, σπεισον λανος, οφρα Ιμερα και κισσου λευκος οδωδε λιθος.
κεν οίνω Ουδ' Αϊδης σοι ερωτας απεσβεσεν εν δ'
Οστεα γηθησε ταμα νοτιζομενα,
Ως ο Διονυσου μεμελημενος ουασε κωμος Ων, όλος ωδινεις Κυπριδι θερμότερη
"Ως ο φιλακρητου συντροφος αρμονιης, HERE sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied Μηδε καταφθιμενος Βακχου διχα τουτον shade;
υπoισω Here, mute in death, the Teian swan is Τον γενεη μεροπων χωρον οφειλομενον laid.1
OH stranger !3 if Anacreon's shell Cold, cold the heart, which lived but Has ever taught thy heart to swell4 to respire With passion's throb or pleasure's sigh,
, All the voluptuous frenzy of desire ! In pitý turn, as wandering nigh,
1 Thus Horace of Pindar:
Nor yet are all his numbers mute,
Though dark within the tomb he lies;
But living still, his amorous lute A swan was the hieroglyphical emblem of a poet. With slecpless animation sighs! Anacreon has been called the swan of Teos by This is the famous Simonides, whom Plato styled another of his eulogists:
divine,' though Le Fevre, in his Poètes Grecs, Εν τοις μελιχροις Ιμεροισι συντροφος supposes that the epigrams under his name are Λυαίος Ανακρέοντα, Τηίον κυκνον,
all falsely imputed. The most considerable of Εσφηλας υγρη νεκταρος μεληδονη.
his remains is a satirical poem upon women, Ευγενους, Ανθολογ. preserved by Stobaeus, ψογος γυναικών:
We may judge from the lines I have just God of the grape ! thou hast betrayed,
quoted, and the import of the epigram before us, In wine's bewildering dream,
that the works of Anacreon were perfect in the The fairest swan that ever played
times of Simonides and Antipater. Obsopeus Along the Muse's stream!
the commentator here appears to esult in their The Teian, nursed with all those lioneyed boys,
destruction; and telling us they were burned by Che young Desires, light Loves, and rose-lipped the bishops and patriarchs, he adds, 'nec sane id Joys! !
necquicquam fecerunt,' attributing to this out2 Thus Simonides, speaking of our poet :
rage an effect which it could never produce.
3 The spirit of Anacreon utters these verses Μολπης δ' ου ληθη μελιτερπεος, αλλ' ετι κεινο from the tomb, somewhat ‘mutatus ab illo,' at Βαρβιτον ουδε θανων ευνασεν ειν αϊδη. least in simplicity of expression.
Σιμωνιδου, Ανθολογ. 4 We may guess from the words εκ βιβλιων
And drop thy goblet's richest tear, Εύδει και Σμερδις, το Ποθων εα, ώ συ In exquisite libation here !
μελισδων So shall my sleeping ashes thrill
Βαρβιτ', ανεκρουου νεκταρ εναρμονιον. With visions of enjoyment still. Ηίθεου γαρ Ερωτος εφυς σκοπος" ες δε σε I cannot even in death resign
μουνον The festal joys that once were mine, Τοξα τε και σκολιας ειχεν εκηβολιας. When Harmony pursued my ways, And Bacchus wantoned to my lays.? At length thy golden hours have Oh ! if delight could charm no more, winged their flight, If all the goblet's bliss were o'er,
And drowsy death that eyeli When fate had once our doom decreed, steepeth; Then dying would be death indeed ! Thy harp, that whispered through each Nor could I think, unblest by wine, lingering night, 3 Divinity itself divine !
Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth ! She, too, for whom that heart profusely
shed Του αυτου, εις τον αυτον.
The purest nectar of its numbeys, 4 Ευδεις εν φθιμενοισιν, Ανακρεον, εσθλα | She, the young spring of thy desires, πονησας,
has fled,5 Εύδει δ' ή γλυκερη νυκτιλαλος κιθαρα, And with her blest Anacreon slumbers!
epov, that Anacreon was not merely a writer of Let vines, in clustering beauty wreathed, billets-doux, as some French critics have called Drop all their treasures on his head, him. Amongst these, LeFevre, with all his Whose lips a dew of sweetness breathed, professed admiration, has given our poct a cha- Richer than yine hath ever shed ! racter by no means of an elevated cast:
2 The original here is corrupted, the lines o Aussi c'est pour cela que la postérité
Alovvoov is unintelligible. L'a toujours justement d'âge en âge chanté Brunck's emendation improves the sense, but Comme un franc goguenard, ami de goinfrerie, I doubt if it can be commended for elegance. Ami de billets-doux et de badinerie.
He reads the line thus: See the verses prefixed to his Poèles Grecs.
ως ο Διωνυσοιο λελασμενος ουπoτε κωμων. This is unlike the language of Theocritus, to See Brunck, Analecta Veter. Poet. Græc. vol. ii. whom Anacreon is indebted for the following 8 In another of these poems, 'the nightly. simple culogium:
speaking lyre' of the bard is not allowed to be
silent even after his death. Εις Ανακρέοντος ανδριάντα.
Ως ο φιλακρητος τε και οινοβαρες φιλοκωμος Θασαι τον ανδριάντα τουτον, ω ξενε,
Παννυχιος κρουοι* την φιλοπαιδα χελυν. Σπουδα, και λεγ', επαν ες οικον ελθης"
Σιμωνιδου, εις Ανακρέοντα. Ανακρέοντος εικον' ειδον εν Τεω. Των προσθ' ει τι περισσον ωδοποιων.
To beauty's smile and wine's delight, Προσθεις δε χώτι τους νεοισιν άδετο,
To joys he loved on earth so well,
Still shall his spirit, all the night,
Attune the wild aërial shell!
4. Thus, says Brunck, in the prologue to the Stranger! who near this statue chance to roam, Satires of Persius : Let it awhile your studious eyes engage;
Cantare credas Pegaseium nectar. And you may say, returning to your home,
'I've seen the image of the Teian sage, Melos' is the usual reading in this line, and
Best of the bards who deck the Muse's pagc. Casaubon has defended it; but 'nectar,' I think, Then, if you add, “That striplings loved him well,' is much more spirited. You tell them all he was, and aptly tell.
5 The original, to Ilolwv cap, is beautiful.
We regret that such praise should be lavished so The simplicity of this inscription has always de preposterously, and feel that the poet's mistress, lighted me; I have given it, I believe, as literally | Eurypyle, would have deserved it better. Her as a verse translation will allow.
name has been told us by Meleager, as already 1 Thus Simonides, in another of his epitaphs quoted, and in another epigram by Antipater : on our poet: Και μιν αει τεγγοι νοτερη δροσος, ής ο γεραιος
* Brunck has kpovw;
the common Λαροτερον μαλακων επνεεν εκ στοματων. reading, better suits a detached quotation,
Farewell ! thou hadst a pulse for every And every woman found in thee a dart
heart, That Love could scatter from his Which thou, with all thy soul, didst quiver;
Υγρα δε δερκομενοισιν εν ομμασιν ουλoν αειδοις, Τον δε γυνακειων μελεων πλεξαντα ποτ' ωδας, Αιθυσσων λιπαρες ανθος υπερθε κομης,
Ηδυν Ανακρειoντα,* Τεως εις Ελλαδ' αναγεν, Ηε προς Ευρυπυλην τετραμμενος ....
Συμποσιων ερεθισμα, γυναικων ηπεροπευμα. Long may the nymph around thee play,
Critias, of Athens, pays a tribute to the legiti Eurypyle, thy soul's desire !
mate gallantry of Anacreon, calling him, with Basking her beauties in the ray
elegant conciseness, juvaLKWY YTTEPOTTEVMA. That lights thine eyes' dissolving fire!
Teos gave to Greece her treasure, Sing of her smile's bewitching power,
Sage Anacreon, sage in loving; Her every grace that warms and blesses; Fondly weaving lays of pleasure Sing of her brow's luxuriant flower,
For the maids who blushed approving ! The beaming glory of her tresses.
Oh! in nightly banquets sportinz, The expression here, avoos kouns, 'the flower of
Where's the guest could ever fly him? the hair,' is borrowed from Anacreon himself, as
Oh! with love's seduction courting, appears by a fragment of the poet preserved in
Where s the nymph could e'er deny him ? Stobaeus: Απεκειρας δ' άπαλης αμωμον ανθος. | This couplet is not otherwise warranted by
* Thus Scaliger, in his deckcatory verses to the original, than as it dilates the thought which Ronsard : Antipatcr has figuratively expressed:
Blandus, suaviloquus, dulcis Anacreon.
PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.
The Poems which I take the liberty of publishing were never intended by the Author to pass beyond the circle of his friends. He thought, with some justice, that what are called Occasional Poems must be always insipid and uninteresting to the greater part of their readers. The particular situations in which they were written; the character of the author and of his associates ;all these peculiarities must be known and felt before we can enter into the spirit of such compositions. This consideration would have always, I believe, prevented Mr. Little from submitting these trifles of the moment to the eye of dispassionate criticism ; and if their posthumous introduction to the world be injustice to his memory, or intrusion on the public, the error must be imputed to the injudicious partiality of friendship.
Mr. Little died in his one-and-twentieth year; and most of these Poems were written at so early a period, that their errors may claim some indulgence from the critic : their author, as unambitious as indolent, scarce ever looked beyond the moment of composition ; he wrote as he pleased, careless whether he pleased as he wrote. It may likewise be remembered, that they were all the productions of an age when the passions very often give a colouring too warm to the imagination; and this may palliate, if it cannot excuse, that air of levity which pervades so many of them. The aurea legge, sei piace ei lice,' he too much pursued, and too much inculcates. Few can regret this more sincerely than myself; and if my friend had lived, the judgment of riper years would have chastened his mind, and tempere1 the luxuriance of his fancy.
Mr. Little gave much of his time to the study of the amatory writers. If ever he expected to find in the ancients that delicacy of sentiment and variety of fancy which are so necessary to refine and animate the poetry of love, he was much disappointeil. I know not any one of them who can be regarded as a model in that style : Ovid made love like a rike, and Propertius like a schoolmaster. The mythological allusions of the latter are called erudition by his commentators ; but such ostentatious display, upon a subject so simple as lore, would be now esteemed vague and puerile, and was, even in his own times, pedantic. It is astonishing that so many critics have preferred him to the pathetic Tibullus ; but I believe the defects which a common reader condemns have been looked upon rather as beauties by those erudite men, the commentators, who find a field for their ingenuity and research in his Grecian learning and quaint obscurities.
Labore fessi venimus Larem ad nostrum
Tibullus abounds with touches of fine and natural feeling. The idea of bis unexpected return to Delia, "Tunc veniam subito,' &c., is imagined with all the delicate ardour of a lover; and the sentiment of 'nec te posse carere velim,' however colloquial the expression may have been, is natural and from the heart. But, in my opinion, the poet of Verona possessed more genuine feeling than any of them. His life was, I believe, unfortunate ; his associates were wild and abandoned; and the warmth of his nature took too much advantage of the latitude which the morals of those times so criminally allowed to the passions. All this depraved his imagination, and made it the slave of his senses; but still a native sensibility is often very war perceptible, and when he touches on pathos he reaches the heart immediately. They who have felt the sweets of return to a home from which they have long been absent, will confess the beauty of those simple, unaffected lines :
O quid solutis est beatius curis ?
Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto.'-Carm. xxxii. His sorrows on the death of his brother are the very tears of poesy; and when he complains of the ingratitude of mankind, even the inexperienced cannot but sympathize with himn. I wish I were a poet; I should endeavour to catch, by translation, the spirit of those beauties which I admirel so warmly.
It seems to have been peculiarly the fate of Catullus, that the better and more valuable part of his poetry has not reached us; for there is confessedly nothing in his extant works to authorize the epithet doctus,' so universally bestowed upon him by the ancients. If time had suffered the rest to escape, we perhaps should have found among them some more purely amatory ; but of those we possess, can there be a sweeter specimen of warm, yet chastened description, than his loves of Acme and Septimius? and the few little songs of dalliance to Lesbia are distinguished by such an exquisite playfulness, that they have always been assumed as models by the most elegant modern Latinists. Still I must confess, in the unidst of these beauties,
•Medio de fonte leporum Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat.' % It has often been remarked, that the ancients knew nothing of gallantry; and we are told there was too much sincerity in their love to allow them to trifle with the semblance of passion. But I cannot perceive that they were anything more constant than the moderns; they felt all the same dissipation of the heart, though they knew not those seductive graces by which gallantry almost teaches it to be amiable. Watton, the learned advocate for the moderns, deserts them in considering this point of comparison, and praises the ancients for their ignorance of such a refinement; but he seems to have collected his notions of gallantry from the insipid fadeurs of the French romances, which are very unlike the sentimental levity, the 'grata protervitas,' of a Rochester or a Sedley.
From what I have had an opportunity of observing, the early poets of our own language were the models which Mr. Little selected for imitation. To atti in their simplicity (ævo rarissima nostro simplicitas) was his fondest
' In the following Poens there is a trans- serves to be praised for little more than the lation of one of his finest Carmina; but I attempt. fancy it is only a schoolboy's essay, and de- 2 Lucretius,