Horace, creator; Conington, John, 1825-1869, editor

  • The first of March! a man unwed!
  • What can these flowers, this censer mean?
  • Or what these embers, glowing red
  • On sods of green?
  • You ask, in either language skill'd!
  • A feast I vow'd to Bacchus free,
  • A white he-goat, when all but kill'd
  • By falling tree.
  • So, when that holyday comes round,
  • It sees me still the rosin clear
  • From this my wine-jar, first embrown'd
  • In Tullus' year.
  • Come, crush one hundred cups for life
  • Preserved, Maecenas; keep till day
  • The candles lit; let noise and strife
  • Be far away.
  • Lay down that load of state-concern;
  • The Dacian hosts are all o'erthrown;
  • The Mede, that sought our overturn,
  • Now seeks his own;