Now I lead a life of ease,
Far from rugged haunts like these.
From Anacreon's hand I eat
Food delicious, viands sweet;
Flutter o'er his goblet's brim,
Sip the foamy wine with him.
Then, when I have wantoned round
To his lyre's beguiling sound;
Or with gently moving-wings
Fanned the minstrel while he sings;
On his harp I sink in slumbers,
Dreaming still of dulcet numbers!
This is all--away--away--
You have made me waste the day.
How I've chattered! prating crow
Never yet did chatter so.
[1] The dove of Anacreon, bearing a letter from the poet to his mistress,
is met by a stranger, with whom this dialogue, is imagined.
[2] "This passage is invaluable, and I do not think that anything so
beautiful or so delicate has ever been said. What an idea does it give of
the poetry of the man, from whom Venus herself, the mother of the Graces
and the Pleasures, purchases a little hymn with one of her favorite
doves!"--LONGEPIERRE.
ODE XVI.[1]
Thou, whose soft and rosy hues
Mimic form and soul infuse,
Best of painters, come portray
The lovely maid that's far away.
Far away, my soul! thou art,
But I've thy beauties all by heart.
Paint her jetty ringlets playing,
Silky locks, like tendrils straying;[2]
And, if painting hath the skill
To make the spicy balm distil,
Let every little lock exhale
A sigh of perfume on the gale.
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