He said, and from the lonely height

way;

He turn'd and downward bent his And sought, while darker grew the night, The ship at anchor in the bay.

But many a sun shall seek the sea,
And many a long, long night be o'er,
Ere morn returning smile to see

The Wanderer on his native shore.

TRANSLATIONS FROM ANACREON.

ODE I.

FAIN would I strike the sounding strings To deeds of heroes and of kings;

But fruitless all my efforts prove;

The chords still murmur notes of love.

I change and change the strings in vain,
And raise aloud the epic strain;
They still refuse the lofty lay,
And sink to softer sounds away.

Ye heroes and ye kings, adieu!
No more I tune my strains to you.
Myself, my lyre, to Love belong,
And only Love shall grace my song.

ODE II.

By nature's bounty arm'd with horns
The sturdy bull his rival scorns;

With solid hoofs she arm'd the steed,
The weak and tim'rous hare with speed,
The lion with tremendous rows

Of teeth wide opening on his foes,
The fish she gave the sea to swim,
The birds the liquid air to skim,
Strong sense and courage man obtain’d:
For woman no defence remain'd.
What then for her was decreed?
-Beauty:-'tis fair woman's meed;
Stronger far than sword or shield;
All to pow'rful beauty yield:

And fire and steel are weaker arms

Than matchless Woman's magic charms.

ODE IV.

On a soft and fragrant bed,
Of lotus and of myrtle made,
Let me carelessly recline,

And mingle pleasure with my wine.
With a ribbon Love shall bind
His loose flowing robe behind,
And fill the sparkling cup that bears
Sweet oblivion to my cares.
For life hastens to decay

Swift as the chariot whirls away;
Cold in the grave we soon must lie,
Insensate to the call of joy.
What folly then to waste perfume,
And pour libations on the tomb!
To me rather while I live

All your balms and odours give,
My head with rosy wreaths entwine,
And bid the willing fair be mine!
For, Cupid, 'till my course be spec
To mix my revels with the dead,
I would fain the time employ
To snatch a transient taste of joy.

ODE X.

As late a youth did proffer
A waxen Love for sale,
In haste to seize the offer,
His price I bade him tell.

"Say, for this boy so charming "How much must you receive?” In rustic guise he answer'd, "Just what you please to give.

" 'Tis not that 'tis my calling "That I this image sell, "But that I choose no longer "With restless love to dwell."

"Then to my hands consign him! "(This drachma be your fee,)" Cried I with eager rapture,

"And he shall dwell with me."

Now then, O Love, illumine
This bosom with thy fire,
Or, to the flames devoted,
Thyself shalt soon expire.