Fill the cup, my trusty page,
Anacreon, the blithe and sage,
As his maxim, ever said,
Those slain by wine are noble dead.
ODE XXVII.—THE SAME SUBJECT.
When the generous god of wine,
Bacchus, son of Jove divine,
Frees my soul from anxious care,
Fills my breast and revels there,
Then I lead the mazy dance,
Rapt in pleasure's giddy trance.
Oh! what transports then I prove—
Sweet the joys of wine and love!
Music breathes its softest strains,
Venus too with Bacchus reigns.
Thus, with wine and beauty bless'd,
Thus I charm my cares to rest,
Ever joyous, blithe, and gay,
Dance the happy hours away.
ODE XXVIII.—ON HIS MISTRESS.[1]
Best of painters, lend thy aid,
Draw the lines of light and shade;
Master of the Rhodian art,[2]
Paint the charmer of my heart;
- ↑ The version of this ode, first published in the Guardian, is adopted both by Addison and Fawkes; but however beautiful and spirited it may be thought, another translator, Mr. Girdlestone, shrewdly remarks, that no painter could make a beautiful picture from a description which leaves out the nose. In the original not a single feature is omitted; and therefore the version above mentioned must be defective.
- ↑ The Rhodians were, according to Pindar, the first people acquainted with the arts of painting and sculpture.
