ANACREON. -

THE dark earth drinks, the forest

Drinks of the earth, the breezes

Are swallowed by the ocean.

The sun, in turn, the sea drinks,

And, last of all, the fair moon

Quenches its thirst in sunbeams.

Why quarrel with me, comrades,

If I find joy in drinking?

(To himself.)

When I drink wine my cares sleep.

Why should I care for troubles,

Sorrows, or lamentations?

For after all my trouble,

My care, and woful weeping,

I die. Why waste in wandering

My life? Then drink the nectar

Of fair Lyaeus; sorrows

And care sleep, when we quaff it!