Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray and Smollett

Anacreon, Ode Ninth

Lovely courier of the sky!
  Whence and whither dost thou fly?
  Scattering, as thy pinions play,
  Liquid fragrance all the way;
  Is it business? is it love?
  Tell me, tell me, gentle dove!

Soft Anacreon’s vows I bear,
  Vows to Myrtalè the fair;
  Graced with all that charms the heart,
  Blushing nature, smiling art.
  Venus, courted by an ode,
  On the bard her dove bestow’d:
  Vested with a master’s right,
  Now Anacreon rules my flight;
  His the letters that you see,
  Weighty charge, consign’d to me:
  Think not yet my service hard,
  Joyless task without reward;
  Smiling at my master’s gates,
  Freedom my return awaits;
  But the liberal grant in vain
  Tempts me to be wild again.
  Can a prudent dove decline
  Blissful bondage such as mine?
  Over hills and fields to roam,
  Fortune’s guest without a home;
  Under leaves to hide one’s head,
  Slightly shelter’d, coarsely fed:
  Now my better lot bestows
  Sweet repast, and soft repose:
  Now the generous bowl I sip,
  As it leaves Anacreon’s lip:
  Void of care and free from dread,
  From his fingers snatch his bread;
  Then with luscious plenty gay,
  Round his chamber dance and play;
  Or from wine as courage springs,
  O’er his face extend my wings;
  And when feast and frolic tire,
  Drop asleep upon his lyre.
  This is all, be quick and go,
  More than all thou canst not know;
  Let me now my pinions ply,
  I have chatter’d like a pye.