ODE XLI.—THE BANQUET OF WINE.
Come, let the mantling cups be crown'd,
And let the jovial song go round.
To Bacchus still the strain prolong,
Who taught the dance, and loves the song.
Companion blithe with Cupid seen,
Beloved alike by beauty's queen;
The father, he, of joy and mirth,
To him the Graces owe their birth.[1]
He heals the wounds of pain and grief,
In him the wretched find relief.
When blooming youths present the bowl
Sweet joys alone possess the soul;
And, borne aloft, our sorrows fly
On swift-wing'd storms that sweep the sky.
Then let us anxious thoughts dismiss,
And pledge the cup to scenes of bliss;
For what avails heart-rending care,
Since mortal man is sorrow's heir.
How short his life's uncertain date![2]
Unknown and dark his future state.
But when the brimming bowl I drain
I love to dance along the plain,
With sweet perfumes to bathe my hair
And frolic with the young and fair.
Let anxious idiots still despise
The joys which wiser men will prize.
Then, while the jovial cup goes round,
To Bacchus let the song resound.
- ↑ Madame Dacier supposes this to be the passage on which was founded the opinion that the Graces were the daughters of Venus and Bacchus.
- ↑ The ancient poets all agree in enforcing the necessity of enjoying life, on account of its brevity and uncertainty. Martial says,
If this be true in the sense in which they meant it, how much more forcibly will it apply to our own altered views and circumstances!"I'll live to-morrow, none but fools will say:
To-morrow is too late—live then today."