Page:Odes and Carmen Saeculare.djvu/72



HE Muses love me: fear and grief, The winds may blow them to the sea; Who quail before the wintry chief
 * Of Scythia's realm, is nought to me.

What cloud o'er Tiridates lowers,
 * I care not, I. O, nymph divine

Of virgin springs, with sunniest flowers
 * A chaplet for my Lamia twine,

Pimplea sweet! my praise were vain
 * Without thee. String this maiden lyre,

Attune for him the Lesbian strain,
 * O goddess, with thy sister quire!

HAT, fight with cups that should give joy? 'Tis barbarous; leave such savage ways To Thracians. Bacchus, shamefaced boy,
 * Is blushing at your bloody frays.

The Median sabre! lights and wine!
 * Was stranger contrast ever seen?

Cease, cease this brawling, comrades mine,
 * And still upon your elbows lean.