Odes and Carmen Saeculare — Book III - VIII - Martiis Coelebs

MARTIIS COELEBS.

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;

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.

IX.