In vats the heavenly load they lay,
And swift the damsels trip away:
The youths alone the wine-press tread,
For wine's by skilful drunkards made :
Meantime the mirthful fong they raise,
Io ! Bacchus, to thy praise !
And, eying the blest juice, in thought
Quaff an imaginary draught.
Gaily through wine the old advance,
And doubly tremble in the dance :
In fancy'd youth they chant and play,
Forgetful that their locks are grey.
Through wine, the youth compleats his loves;
He haunts the filence of the groves :
Where, stretch'd beneath th' embowering shade,
He spies some love-inspiring maid ;
On beds of rosy sweets she lies,
Inviting Neep to close her eyes :
Fast by her side his limbs he throws,
Her hand he presses--- breathes his vows ;
And cries, My love, my soul, comply
This instant, or, alas ! I die.
In vain the youth persuasion tries !
In vain !-her tongue at least denies :
Then scorning death through dull despair,
He storms th' unwilling willing fair:
Blessing the grapes that could dispense
The happy, happy impudence.
C OME, lyrist, ture thy hard, and pas
Responsive to my vocal lay:
Gently touch it, while I ling
The Rose, the glory of the fpri:z.
To heaven the Rose in fragrance 1,
The sweetest incense of the skiss,
Thee, joy of earth, when verrai bons
Pour forth a blooming walte cf fisheri,
The gaily-smiling Graces wear
A trophy in their flowing hair.
Thee Venus queen of beauty Lures,
And crown'd with thee more graceful mous.
In fabled song, and tunefal lays,
Their favourite Rose the Muses praist :
To pluck the Rose, the virgin-train
With blood their pretty fingers lain,
Nor dread the pointed terrors round,
That threaten, and inflict a wound ;
See! how they wave the charming toy,
Now kiss, now snuff the fragrant joy!
The Rose the poets strive to praise,
And for it would exchange their bays;
O! ever to the sprightly feast
Admitted, welcome, pleasing guest!
But chiefly when the goblet flows,
And Rosy wreathes adorn our brows!
Lovely smiling Rose, how sweet
The object where thy beauties meet!
Aurora with a blushing ray,
And Rosy-fingers, spreads the day :
The Graces more enchanting show,
When Rosy blushes paint their snow,
And every pleas'd beholder seeks
The Rose in Cytheräa's cheeks.
When pain afflicts, or sickness grieves,
Its juice the drooping heart relieves,
And, after death, its odours shed
A pleasing fragrance o'er the dead:
And when its withering charms decay,
And sinking, fading, die away,
Triumphant o'er the rage of time,
It keeps the fragrance of its prime.
Come, lyrist, join to sing the birth
Of this sweet offspring of the earth!
When Venus from the ocean's bed
Rais'd o'er the waves her lovely head ;
When warlike Pallas sprung from Jove,
Tremendous to the powers above,
To
grace
the world the teeming earth
Gave the fragrant infant birth,
And • This, she cry'd, I this ordain
My favourite, queen of flowers to reign!"
But first th' assembled gods debate
The future wonder to create :
Agreed at length from heaven they threw
A drop of rich, nectareous dew,
A bramble-stem the drop receives,
And strait the Rose adorns the leaves.
ANACREON.
The gods to Bacchus gave the flower,
To grace him in the genial hour.
HEN sprightly youths my eyes survey,
I too am young, and I am gay:
In dance my active body swims,
And sudden pinions lift my
limbs.
Halte, crown, Cybæba, crown my brows
With garlands of the fragrant rose!
Hence, hoary age !---I now am strong,
And dance, a youth among the young.
Come then, my friends, the goblet drain !
Blest juice !--- I feel thee in each vein!
See! how with active bounds I spring !
How strong, and yet how sweet, I fing!
How blest am I ! who thus excell
In pleasing arts of triling well!
THI
HE stately steed expressive bears
A mark imprinted on his hairs :
The turban that adorns the brows
Of Asia's fons, the Parthian shows :
And marks betray the lover's heart,
Deeply engrav’d by Cupid's dart :
I plainly read them in his eyes,
That look too foolish or too wise,
AL
LAS! the powers of life decay!
My hairs are fall’n, or changed to grey! The smiling bloom, and youthful grace, Is banish'd from my faded face ! Thus man beholds, with weeping eyes, Himself half-dead before he dies.
For this, and for the grave, I fear,
And
pour the never-ceasing tear!
A dreadful prospect strikes my eye,
I soon must ficken, foon must die.
For this the mournful groan I shed,
Ι
I dread-alas! the hour I dread!
What eye can stedfastly survey
Death, and its dark tremendous way?
For foon as fate has clos’d our eyes,
Man dies-for ever, ever dies !
All pale, all senseless in the urn!
Never, ah! never to return.
ONCE more, not uninspir'd, the string
I waken, and spontaneous sing:
No Pythic laurel-wreath I claiin,
That lifts ambition into fame :
My voice unbidden tunes the lay :
Some god impells, and I obey.
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