Pindar and Anacreon/Anacreon/Ode 36
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ODE XXXVI.—LIFE TO BE ENJOYED.
Why prate to me of critic rules,
And jargon of the jangling schools?
Your learned dogmas, prithee, spare,
They're useless all—not worth my care.
I'll hear thee gladly, canst thou tell
The happy art of living well;
How best to mix the sparkling wine,
To make the mellow draught divine;
How best to please the lovely fair,
For this indeed is worth my care.
Alas! each day, each hour I know,
My hoary locks still whiter grow:
Then bring the goblet—let me drink,
'Twill only make me sad to think
How near, how very near the day[1]
When, mix'd with earth and kindred clay,
My soul no more shall taste of joy,
Nor schemes of bliss my mind employ.
- ↑ What can present a stronger picture of the deplorable state of those who only in this life have hope, than this desponding reflection? The prospect of death, considered merely as a termination of the pleasures of life, was too dreadful to be entertained, and therefore he resolves to banish all thoughts of such an event in scenes of mirth and festivity. Is it not to be feared that he has too many imitators, even among those who, enlightened by Revelation, know that this life is but a probationary state, and yet not only neglect its duties, but, judging from their conduct, seldom bestow a single thought on them?