Like the wreath which he
presented in the dream, "it smells of Anacreon."
[2] Anacreon is not the only one [says Longepierre] whom wine has inspired
with poetry. We find an epigram in the first book of the "Anthologia,"
which begins thus:--
If with water you fill up your glasses,
You'll never write anything wise;
For wine's the true horse of Parnassus.
Which carries a bard to the skies!
ODE LI.
Fly not thus my brow of snow,
Lovely wanton! fly not so.
Though the wane of age is mine,
Though youth's brilliant flush be thine,
Still I'm doomed to sigh for thee,
Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me!
See, in yonder flowery braid,
Culled for thee, my blushing maid,[1]
How the rose, of orient glow,
Mingles with the lily's snow;
Mark, how sweet their tints agree,
Just, my girl, like thee and me!
[1] In the same manner that Anacreon pleads for the whiteness of his
locks, from the beauty of the color in garlands, a shepherd, in
Theocritus, endeavors to recommend his black hair.
ODE LII.[1]
Away, away, ye men of rules,
What have I do with schools?
They'd make me learn, they'd make me think,
But would they make me love and drink?
Teach me this, and let me swim
My soul upon the goblet's brim;
Teach me this, and let me twine
Some fond, responsive heart to mine,
For, age begins to blanch my brow,
I've time for naught but pleasure now.
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