andon_ than he indulged in them--a not uncommon
practice of the poet-folk, by the way, and one to which those who sing
of deeds of arms are perhaps especially addicted. The great age which
Anacreon attained points to a temperate life; and he more than once
denounces intoxication with as great zeal as a modern reformer who has
eschewed the flagon for the trencher. According to Anacreon, drunkenness
is "the vice of barbarians;" though, for the matter of that, it is
difficult to say what achievable vice is not. In Ode LXII, he sings:

Fill me, boy, as deep a draught
As e'er was filled, as e'er was quaffed;
But let the water amply flow
To cool the grape's intemperate glow.
* * * * *
For though the bowl's the grave of sadness
Ne'er let it be the birth of madness
No! banish from our board to night
The revelries of rude delight
To Scythians leave these wild excesses
Ours be the joy that soothes and blesses!
And while the temperate bowl we wreathe
In concert let our voices breathe
Beguiling every hour along
With harmony of soul and song

Maximus of Tyre speaking of Polycrates the Tyrant (tyrant, be it
remembered, meant only usurper, not oppressor) considered the happiness
of that potentate secure because he had a powerful navy and such a
friend as Anacreon--the word navy naturally suggesting cold water, and
cold water, Anacreon.]

And so in Ode LIX, which seems to be a vintage hymn.

When he whose verging years decline
As deep into the vale as mine
When he inhales the vintage cup
His feet new winged from earth spring up
And as he dances the fresh air
Plays whispering through his silvery hair

--_Id_

In Ode XLVII, he boasts that age has not impaired his relish for, nor
his power of indulgence in, the feast and dance.

Tis true my fading years decline
Yet I can quaff the brimming wine
As deep as any stripling fair
Whose cheeks the flush of morning wear,
And if amidst the wanton crew
I'm called to wind the dance's clew
Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand
Not faltering on the Bacchant's wand

For though my fading years decay--
Though manhood's prime hath passed away,
Like old Silenus sire divine
With blushes borrowed from the wine
I'll wanton mid the dancing tram
And