ANACREON.
17
Mis tunic shorten'd—standing near me,
His waist with rushy girdle bound,
With rosy wine let Cupid cheer me,
And serve the golden goblet round.
For, ah! with what unwearied pace[1]
The ceaseless wheel of life runs on!
Just like the chariot's rapid race,
How swift the course, how quickly run!
Yet thus, alas! our moments fly;
Thus pass our fleeting years away;
And soon shall we neglected lie,
A little dust—a lump of clay!
Then why, when life's short scene is o'er,
Anoint a cold unconscious stone?[2]
Why vainly rich libations pour,
Or call ray ghost with useless moan?
- ↑ If, according to the ancient proverb, it is commendable to receive instruction even from an enemy, surely we should not disdain to be made wiser by a heathen. These lines contain a fine moral sentiment; and the Christian reader, excited by higher motives, will seek to improve that time which, ceaseless in its progress, and irrevocable in its flight, is given to him for nobler purposes than to be wasted in trifling pursuits or sensual indulgences.
- ↑ The custom among the ancients of pouring sweet unguents on the tombs of their deceased friends, and crowning them with chaplets of flowers, is well known. The eastern nations are still remarkable for the careful and affectionate attention they bestow on their departed relatives.
"The Turkish burying ground stands on the slope of the hill, at a small distance from the town, near that of the Jews and is encircled by a deep grove of cypress trees. No guard or shade around a cemetery can be so suitable as that of this noble tree; with its waveless and mournful foliage, it looks the very emblem of mortality. The Orientals love that everything should be sad and impressive round the abodes of their dead, which
galed their senses with their agreeable odours. A passion for perfumes and flowers seems to be common to all oriental nations.
