Odes

Horace

Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882.

Note we in our calendar

This festal day with whitest mark from Crete:

Let it flow, the old wine-jar,

And ply to Salian time your restless feet.

Damalis tosses off her wine,

But Bassus sure must prove her match tonight.

Give us roses all to twine,

And parsley green, and lilies deathly white.

Every melting eye will rest

On Damalis' lovely face; but none may part

Damalis from our new-found guest;

She clings, and clings, like ivy, round his heart.

Now drink we deep, now featly tread

A measure; now before each shrine

With Salian feasts the table spread;

The time invites us, comrades mine.