. Anacreon : . SLATION ILLUSTRATED BY J. E. WEGUELIN ELEVEN PHOTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS NEW YORKMERRILL AND BAKER 74 Fifth Avenue1894 Sanibnrsitp Press:Presswork by John Wilson and Son. Eimitrt Etittton, on f§anii=malie J^apet. F/w Hundred Copies. ?f 576399 LIBRARY . ANACREON. The Lute. I. Of th Atrides I would sing, Or the wandring Theban king ; But when I my lute did prove, Nothing it would sound but love ; I new strung it, and to play Hercles labours did essay; But my pains I fruitless found; Nothing it but love would sound : Heroes then farewell, my lute ^-^^ To all strains but love is mute
. Anacreon : . SLATION ILLUSTRATED BY J. E. WEGUELIN ELEVEN PHOTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS NEW YORKMERRILL AND BAKER 74 Fifth Avenue1894 Sanibnrsitp Press:Presswork by John Wilson and Son. Eimitrt Etittton, on f§anii=malie J^apet. F/w Hundred Copies. ?f 576399 LIBRARY . ANACREON. The Lute. I. Of th Atrides I would sing, Or the wandring Theban king ; But when I my lute did prove, Nothing it would sound but love ; I new strung it, and to play Hercles labours did essay; But my pains I fruitless found; Nothing it but love would sound : Heroes then farewell, my lute ^-^^ To all strains but love is mute. Beauty. II. HoKNS to bulls wise Nature lends;Horses she with hoofs defends;Hares with nimble feet relieves ;Dreadful teeth to lions gives;Fishes learns through streams to slide;Birds through yielding air to glide ;Men with courage she supplies ;But to women these then gives she ? Beauty, thisBoth their arms and armour is:She, that can this weapon use,Fire and sword with ease Loves Night Walk. III. Downward was the wheeling BearDriven by the Waggoner :Men by powerful sleep opprest,Gave their busy troubles rest;Love, in this still depth of night,Lately at my house did light;Where, perceiving all fast the door he boldly knockd. Whos that, said I, that does keepSuch a noise, and breaks my sleep ? Ope, saith Love, for pity hear;Tis a child, thou needst not fear. Wet and wear3^ from his wa}-Led by this dark night compassion this I heard;Light I struck, the door unbarrd;Where a little boy appears,Who wings, bow, and quiver bears;Near the fiie I made him stand,With my own I chafd his hand,And with kindly busy careWrung the chill drops from his well warmd he was, and dry, Now, saith he, tis time to tryIf my bow no hurt did methinks the string is that, drawing it, a dartHe let fly that piercd my heart;Leaping tlien, and laughing said, Come, my friend, with me be glad;For my bow thou seest is sound,Since thy heart ha
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