Page:Pindar and Anacreon.djvu/314

46  The smiling sun resumes his sway, And drives the dismal clouds away; The teeming' earth is big with fruits, Forth into day the olive shoots; Rich, juicy clusters deck the vine, Which soon shall ripen into wine: The charming sight with joy I see, To Bacchus welcome—and to me.

, ah! true, I'm growing old; Why should not the truth be told? Still, from youths I never shrink When the business is to drink. When the joyous troop advance, Still I join the merry dance: I no useless sceptre bear; But on high my bottle rear. Should the grape some hero fire, Should he wars and fights desire, Let him fight then, if he please, I prefer my peaceful ease. Bring me, then, my gentle page, Wine that glows with strength and age.