Whilst old Anacreon, wet with wine,
And crown'd with wreaths of Lesbian vine,
E'en Sophocles, whose honey'd lore
Rivals the bee's delicious store,
Chorus'd the praise of wine and love,
Choicest of all the gifts of Jove.
Euripides, whose tragic breast
No yielding fair one ever press'd,
At length in his obdurate heart
Felt love's revengeful rankling dart,
'Till vengeance met him in the way,
And bloodhounds made the bard their prey.
Philoxenus, by wood-nymphs bred
On famed Cythæron's sacred head,
And train'd to music, wine, and song,
'Midst orgies of the frantic throng,
When beauteous Galatea died,
His flute and thyrsus cast aside;
And wand'ring to thy pensive coast,
Sad Melos! where his love was lost,
Each night through the responsive air
Thy echoes witness'd his despair:
Still, still his plaintive harp was heard,
Soft as the nightly-singing bird.
Philetas too in Battis' praise
Sung his long-winded roundelays;
His statue in the Coan grove
Now breathes in brass perpetual love.
The mortified abstemious sage,
Deep read in learning's crabbed page,
Pythagoras, whose boundless soul
Scaled the wide globe from pole to pole,
Earth, planets, seas, and heav'n above,
Yet found no spot secure from love;
With love declines unequal war,
And trembling drags his conqueror's car;
Theano clasp'd him in her arms,
And wisdom stoop'd to beauty's charms.
