[2]
[1] It is difficult to preserve with any grace the narrative simplicity of
this ode, and the humor of the turn with which it concludes. I feel,
indeed, that the translation must appear vapid, if not ludicrous, to an
English reader.
[2] From this Longepierre conjectures, that, whatever Anacreon might say,
he felt sometimes 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;[1]
Cvbele's name he howls around,
The gloomy blast returns the sound!
Oft too, by Claros' hallowed spring,[2]
The votaries of the laurelled king
Quaff the inspiring, magic stream,
And rave in wild, prophetic dream.
But frenzied dreams are not for me,
Great Bacchus is my deity!
Full of mirth, and full of him,
While floating odors round me swim,
While mantling 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] 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
Cybele's jealousy, is a point upon which authors are not agreed.
[2] This fountain was in a grove, consecrated to Apollo, and situated
between Colophon and Lebedos, in Ionia.
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