"Take it, for a trifle take it;

Think not yet that I could make it;
Pray, believe it was not I;

No-it cost me many a sigh,

"Here, then, here," I said with joy,
"Here is silver for the boy:

He shall be my bosom guest,
Idol of my pious breast!"

Little Love! thou now art mine,

Warm me with that torch of thine;

Make me feel as I have felt,

Or thy waxen frame shall melt.

I must burn in warm desire,

Or thou, my boy, in yonder fire!

And I can no longer keep

Little gods, who murder sleep!] I have not literally rendered the epithet warropexra; if it has any meaning here, it is one, perhaps, better omitted.

I must burn in warm desire,

Or thou, my boy, in yonder fire!] Monsieur Longepierre conjectures from this, that, whatever Anacreon might say,h sometimes felt the inconveniences of old age, and here solicits from the power of Love a warmth which he could no longer expect from Nature.

ODE XII.

THEY tell how Atys, wild with love,
Roams the mount and haunted grove;
Cybele's name he howls around,
The gloomy blast returns the sound!
Oft too by Claros' hallow'd spring,
The votaries of the laurell'd king
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream,
And rave in wild prophetic dream.

They tell how Atys, wild with love, Roams the mount and haunted grove. ] There are many contradictory stories of the loves of Cybele and Atys. It is certain that he was mutilated, but whether by his own fury, or her jealousy, is a point which authors are not agreed

upon.

Cybele's name he howls around, etc.] I have adopted the accentuation which Elias Andreas gives to Cybele:

In montibus Cybelen
Magno sonans boatu.

Oft too by Claros' hallow'd spring, etc.] This fountain was in a grove, consecrated to Apollo, and situated between Colophon and Lebedos, in Ionia. The god had an oracle there. Scaliger has thus alluded to it in his Anacreontica :

Semel ut concitus œstro,

Veluti qui Clarias aquas,

Ebibere loquaces,

Quo plus canunt, plura volunt.

But frenzied dreams are not for me,

Great Bacchus is my deity!

Full of mirth, and full of him,

While waves of perfume round me swim ;
While flavour'd bowls are full supplied,
And you sit blushing by my side,
I will be mad and raving too-

Mad, my girl! with love for you!

1 WILL;

ODE XIII.

I will; the conflict's past,

And I'll consent to love at last.

Cupid has long with smiling art,

Invited me to yield my heart;

And I have thought that peace of mind
Should not be for a smile resign'd;

And I've repell'd the tender lure,

And hoped my heart should sleep secure.

While waves of perfume, etc.] Spaletti has mistaken the import of xoptotis, as applied to the poet's mistress: "Meâ fatigatus amicâ." He interprets it, in a sense which must want either delicacy or gallantry.

But, slighted in his boasted charms, infant flew to arms;

The angry

He slung his quiver's golden frame,
He took his bow, his shafts of flame,
And proudly summon'd me to yield,
Or meet him on the martial field.
And what did I unthinking do?
I took to arms, undaunted too ;-

And what did I unthinking do?

I took to arms, undaunted too. ] Longepierre has quoted an epigram from the Anthologia, in which the poet assumes Reason as the armour against Love.

Ωπλισμοι προς έρωτα περι περνοισι λογισμού,
Ουδε με νικησει, μονος εων προς ένα.
Θνατος δ' αθανατω συνελευσομαι. ην δε βοηθον
Βακχον έχη, τι μόνος προς du' εγω δύναμαι ;

With Reason I cover my breast as a shield,
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field;
Thus fighting his godship, I'll ne'er be dismay'd;
But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid,
Alas! then, unable to combat the two,
Unfortunate warrior! what should I do?

This idea of the irresistibility of Cupid and Bacchus united, is delicately expressed in an Italian poem, which is so very Anacreontic that I may be pardoned for introducing it. Indeed, it is an imitation of our poet's sixth ode.

Lavossi Amore in quel vicino fiume

Ove giuro (Pastor) che bevend 'io

Assumed the corselet, shield, and spear,
And, like Pelides, smiled at fear.

Then (hear it, all you Powers above!)
I fought with Love! I fought with Love!
And now his arrows all were shed-
And I had just in terrors fled—
When, heaving an indignant sigh,
To see me thus unwounded fly,

Bevei le fiamme, anzi l' istesso Dio,
C' hor con l' humide piume
Lascivetto mi scherza al cor intorno.
Ma che sarei s' io lo bevessi un giorno
Bacco, nel tuo liquore?

Sarei, piu che non sono ebro d'Amore.

The urchin of the bow and quiver
Was bathing in a neighbouring river,
Where, as I drank on yester-eve
(Shepherd-youth! the tale believe),
"Twas not a cooling, crystal draught,
'Twas liquid flame I madly quaff'd ;
For Love was in the rippling tide,
I felt him to my bosom glide.
And now the wily, wanton minion
Plays o'er my heart with restless pinion.
This was a day of fatal star,
But were it not more fatal far,
If, Bacchus, in thy cup of fire,
I found this fluttering, young desire?
Then, then indeed my soul should prove,
Much more than ever, drunk with love!