ANACREON. ROSES. Το ροδον το των ερωτων. The rose, the flower of love, Mingle with our quaffing; The rose, the lovely-leav'd, Round our brows be weav'd, Genially laughing. O the rose, the first of flowers, Darling of the early bowers, Ev'n the gods for thee have places; Thee too Cytherea's boy Weaves about his locks for joy, Dancing with the Graces. Crown me then ; I'll play the lyre, Bacchus, underneath thy shade: Heap me, heap me higher and higher, And I'll lead a dance of fire With a dark deep-bosom'd maid. THE BANQUET. Στεφανους μεν κροταφοισι. Often fit we round our brows, One and all, the rosy boughs, And with genial laughs carouse. To the twinkling of the lute Trips a girl with delicate foot, Bearing a green ivy stick Rustling with it's tresses thick; While a boy of earnest air, With a gentle head of hair, |