Book III.8 of The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace

VIII.

The first of March! a man unwed!
What can these flowers, this censer
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;
A servant now, our ancient foe,
The Spaniard, wears at last our chain;
The Scythian half unbends his bow
And quits the plain.
Then fret not lest the state should ail;
A private man such thoughts may spare;
Enjoy the present hour's regale,
And banish care.

Martiis Coelebs.

Martis caelebs quid agam Kalendis,
quid uelint flores et acerra turis
plena miratis positusque carbo in
caepite uiuo,

docte sermones utriusque linguae. 5
Voueram dulcis epulas et album
Libero caprum prope funeratus
arboris ictu.

Hic dies anno redeunte festus
corticem adstrictum pice dimouebit 10
amphorae fumum bibere institutae
consule Tullo.

Sume, Maecenas, cyathos amici
sospitis centum et uigilis lucernas
perfer in lucem; procul omnis esto 15
clamor et ira.

Mitte ciuilis super urbe curas.
Occidit Daci Cotisonis agmen,
Medus infestus sibi luctuosis
dissidet armis, 20

seruit Hispanae uetus hostis orae
Cantaber sera domitus catena,
iam Scythae laxo meditantur arcu
cedere campis.

Neglegens ne qua populus laboret, 25
parce priuatus nimium cauere et
dona praesentis cape laetus horae,
linque serera.

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