y drained the wine.

In the 'Works and Days' Hesiod says again, what is not worth your
listening to, perhaps:

And when that Sinus and Orion come
To middle heaven, and when Aurora--she
O' the rosy fingers--looks inquiringly
Full on Arcturus, straightway gather home
The general vintage. And, I charge you, see
All, in the sun and open air, outlaid
Ten days and nights, and five days in the shade.
The sixth day, pour in vases the fine juice--
The gift of Bacchus, who gives joys for use.

Anacreon talks to the point so well that you must forgive him, I
think, for being Anacreontic, and take from his hands what is not
defiled. The translation you send me does not 'smell of Anacreon,' nor
please me. Where did you get it? Would this be at all fresher?

Grapes that wear a purple skin,
Men and maidens carry in,
Brimming baskets on their shoulders,
Which they topple one by one
Down the winepress. Men are holders
Of the place there, and alone
Tread the grapes out, crush them down,
Letting loose the soul of wine--
Praising Bacchus as divine,
With the loud songs called his own!

You are aware of the dresser of the vine in Homer's 'Hymn to Mercury'
translated so exquisitely by Shelley, and of a very beautiful single
figure in Theocritus besides. Neither probably would suit your
purpose. In the 'Pax' of Aristophanes there is an idle 'Chorus' who
talks of looking at the vines and watching the grapes ripen, and
eating them at last, but there is nothing of vineyard work in it, so I
dismiss the whole.

For 'Hector and Andromache,' would you like me to try to do it for
you? It would amuse me, and you should not be bound to do more with
what I send you than to throw it into the fire if it did not meet
your wishes precisely. The same observation applies, remember, to this
little sheet, which I have _kept_--delayed sending--just because I
wanted to let you have a trial of my strength on 'Andromache' in the
same envelope; but the truth is that it is not _begun_ yet, partly
through other occupation, and partly through the lassitude which the
cold wind of the last few days always brings down on me. Yesterday I
made an effort, and felt like a broken stick--not even a bent one!
So wait for a warm day (and what a season we have had! I have been
walking up and down stairs and pretending to be quite well), and I
will promise to do my best, and certainly an inferior hand may get
nearer to touch the g