Horace, C. IV.xi

I have a brimming jar of wine
From Alba, stored for winters nine
And on my grounds,
Dear Phyllis, is a parsley-truss
To tie up into chaplets, plus
Some heaping mounds

Of ivy to adorn your hair.
My house is bright with silverware;
My altar’s floor,
Adorned with stalks of pure vervain,
Is longing for the spurting stain
Of hot lamb’s gore.

All hands are busy. To and fro
Eager girls a-maying go
With handsome folk,

While trembling fires wheel and waft
Their crackling grains of light aloft

Through filthy smoke.

What cause, you ask, for all this cheer?
And why are you invited here?
It is the Ides
Of April, sacred to the god

Born motherless amid the cod
And gleaming tides;

A day as sanctified to me
As nigh my own nativity,

For my dear mate
Mæcenas reckons up the sum
Of all his fleeting winters from
This very date.

Telephus, the lad you chase
Is prey to one of nobler race;
She’s very rich
And horny as a caribou.
(He likes the chain that binds him to
That preening bitch.)

Phaëthon, who drove the sun
And burnt into a crisp, is one
To daunt your hope;
And Pegasus of godly spawn
Who bucked, and sent Bellerophon
To crawl and grope

Should teach you never more to court
A man above your lowly sort
Or clamber past
Your equals. Come, the door’s ajar –
Come in! Of all my loves you are
The very last;

For never any woman hence
Besides you will inflame my sense,
So learn a lay
To sing from your beloved throat.
The blackest worries at a note
Will slip away.


***

Est mihi nonum superantis annum
Plenus Albani cadus. est in horto,
Phylli, nectendis apium coronis;
Est hederæ vis

Multa quâ crinis religata fulges.
Ridet argento domus; ara castis
Vincta verbenis avet immolato
Spargier agno.

Cuncta festinat manus. huc et illuc
Cursitant mixtæ pueris puellæ;
Sordidum flammae trepidant rotantes
Vertice fumum.

Vt tamen nôris quibus advoceris
Gaudiis idus tibi sunt agendæ
Qui dies mensem Veneris marinæ
Findit Aprilem

Iure sollemnis mihi sanctiorque
Pæne natali proprio quod ex hac
Luce Mæcenas meus adfluentis
Ordinat annos.

Telephum quem tu petis occupavit
Non tuæ sortis iuvenem puella
Dives et lasciva tenetque grata
Compede vinctum.

Terret ambustus Phaëthon avaras
Spes et exemplum grave præbet ales
Pegasus terrenum equitem gravatus
Bellerophontem

Semper ut te digna sequare et ultra
Quam licet sperare nefas putando
Disparem vites. age iam meorum
Finis amorum—

Non enim posthac aliâ calebo
Feminâ—condisce modos, amanda
Voce quos reddas: minuentur atræ
Carmine curæ.