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The Odes of Anacreon E-Book

Thomas Moore

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Beschreibung

In "The Odes of Anacreon," Thomas Moore masterfully translates and interprets the ancient Greek poet Anacreon'Äôs celebrated verses, breathing new life into this collection of lyrical poetry that reflects themes of love, wine, and the pleasures of life. Moore'Äôs engaging literary style melds elegance with accessibility, capturing the essence of Anacreon's bacchanalian revelry through rich imagery and fluid rhythm. His contextualization of the original text situates it within the broader tapestry of Romantic poetry, echoing the era's fascination with classical antiquity and the exploration of human emotion. Thomas Moore (1779-1852) was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter known for his profound ability to transcend cultural boundaries through his art. His deep appreciation for classical literature, along with his own tumultuous experiences in a politically charged era, inspired him to delve into the works of poets like Anacreon. Moore'Äôs background as a skilled translator and a prominent figure in the Romantic movement allowed him to infuse his interpretations with both personal resonance and cultural depth. Readers seeking a blend of classical charm and Romantic sensibility will find "The Odes of Anacreon" an enriching addition to their literary exploration. Moore'Äôs translations remain faithful to the spirit of Anacreon while simultaneously inviting modern readers to indulge in the joys and sorrows of human experience articulated through timeless verse.

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Thomas Moore

The Odes of Anacreon

Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4057664562920

Table of Contents

Cover
Titlepage
Text

INTRODUCTION

Table of Contents

TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.

Amongst the innumerable translators of Anacreon, there was one—a Frenchman by birth—who was both an illustrious painter and a literary enthusiast. Girodet de Roussy, inspired by a genius altogether Greek in its character, has translated Anacreon better by his pencil than he could have been translated by words. One might fancy that his designs had been executed under Anacreon's own eye by some Greek artist, who had himself witnessed that soft and voluptuous existence, where song and pleasure are one.

Seldom indeed have chasteness of execution and voluptuousness of character been so curiously and indissolubly blended. Seldom has a modern artist so happily caught the spirit of an ancient poet. We seem to be transported, as in a dream, to the vines, and orange-groves, and cloudless skies of Greece, and the wearied spirit abandons itself for a while to the soft influences of the azure heaven, the countless luxuriance of roses, the undulating forms of the fair girls dancing in the shade, while youthful attendants brim the beaker with wine. Under such influences we remember that youth, and love, and mirth are immortal, and we say with Horace—

'Nec, si quid olim lusit AnacreonDelevit ætas.' Hor.[A]

In that close wrestle of the genius that imitates with the genius that creates, Girodet alone came out from the trial successfully. He has shown himself the rival of Anacreon in grace, in abandon, in naïveté. He has succeeded in depicting his poet's theme with equal elegance and delicacy. Loving with a real love those old Greek songs, he has displayed them in living beauty before our eyes in fifty-four exquisite drawings. To attempt such a masterpiece required a poet's as well as a painter's skill; and Girodet was both a painter and a poet.

[A]
'Time cannot raze Anacreon's name,Nor prey upon his youthful strains.'

In examining these compositions, one cannot abstain from a certain kind of surprise: all the odes of Anacreon revolve upon two or three central ideas, expressed in a manner full of grace, unquestionably, but still always the same ideas. The artist, while not deviating from the narrow circle traced for him by the poet, shows a fecundity and variety that are truly marvellous—that astonish and enchant us at the same time. The nobility, elegance, and wealth of accessories that prevail throughout the whole series might, as we have already hinted, lead us to suppose that we owed them to one of the famous artists that Greece produced: the painter and the poet seem to have been born under one heaven, and informed with one soul.

The manners of the time in which Anacreon lived permitted him to say many things which, in their crudity, might offend our modern taste. Girodet is not less voluptuous than Anacreon; but he always maintains that grace and delicacy which add so great a charm to the voluptuous: nowhere in his animated panorama is sight or sense shocked.

These designs originally accompanied a translation of the Odes of Anacreon, made by the painter himself and published shortly after his death. Some small photographs of them on a greatly reduced scale appeared in 1864, in an exquisite little edition of the original Greek, from the press of Firmin Didot, at the almost prohibitive price of Two Pounds. The present reproductions are on a scale more proportionate with the originals, and constitute the first appearance of Girodet's designs in England, where, we feel assured, they will be appreciated as they deserve by all true lovers of classical art.

The English verse-translation of Moore has been chosen to accompany them, because, though it has often been objected to by the learned for its imperfect scholarship, it seemed to us to be most in harmony with the real spirit of the great French painter, and of the old Greek poet himself.

Oct. 25, 1869.

I WILL; I will; the conflict's past,And I'll consent to love at last.Cupid has long, with smiling art,Invited me to yield my heart;And I have thought that peace of mindShould not be for a smile resign'd;And I've repell'd the tender lure,And hoped my heart should sleep secure.But, slighted in his boasted charms,The angry infant flew to arms;He slung his quiver's golden frame,He took his bow, his shafts of flame,And proudly summon'd me to yield,

Or meet him on the martial field.And what did I unthinking do?I took to arms, undaunted too;Assumed the corslet, shield, and spear,And, like Pelides, smiled at fear.Then (hear it, all you powers above!)I fought with Love! I fought with Love!And now his arrows all were shedAnd I had just in terrors fled—When heaving an indignant sighTo see me thus unwounded fly,And having now no other dart,He glanced himself into my heart!My heart—alas the luckless day!Received the god, and died away.
Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield!Thy lord at length is forced to yield.Vain, vain, is every outward care,My foe's within, and triumphs there.

ODE XIII.