And let me, while the wild and young
Trip the mazy dance along
Fling my heap of years away
And be as wild, as young as they

—­Moore

[Footnote A:  It may be noted here that the popular conception of this poet as a frivolous sensualist is unsustained by evidence and repudiated by all having knowledge of the matter.  Although love and wine were his constant themes, there is good ground for the belief that he wrote of them with greater abandon 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 live my follies o’er again