Odes 4.11 (Horace)

Est mihi nonum superantis annum
plenus Albani cadus, est in horto,
Phylli, nectendis apium coronis,
est hederae uis

multa, qua crinis religata fulges,
ridet argento domus, ara castis
uincta uerbenis auet immolato
spargier agno;

cuncta festinat manus, huc et illuc
cursitant mixtae pueris puellae,
sordidum flammae trepidant rotantes
uertice fumum.

Vt tamen noris quibus aduoceris
gaudiis, Idus tibi sunt agendae,
qui dies mensem Veneris marinae
findit Aprilem,

iure sollemnis mihi sanctiorque
paene natali proprio, quod ex hac
luce Maecenas meus affluentis
ordinat annos.

Telephum, quem tu petis, occupauit
non tuae sortis iuuenem puella
diues et lasciua tenetque grata
compede uinctum.

Terret ambustus Phaethon auaras
spes et exemplum graue praebet ales
Pegasus terrenum equitem grauatus
Bellerophontem,

semper ut te digna sequare et ultra
quam licet sperare nefas putando
disparem uites. Age iam, meorum
finis amorum

(non enim posthac alia calebo
femina), condisce modos, amanda
uoce quos reddas; minuentur atrae
carmine curae.


There is in my cellar a jug of Alban--
more than nine years aging--and in the garden,
Phyllis, there is parsley for weaving garlands,
there are abundant

ivy leaves to bind back your shining hair; the
whole house laughs with silver, and the blest altar
bound with sacred greenery begs the touch of
sacrificed lamb's blood.

All the household's running about in tumult
here and there, the lads and the maidens mingled,
and the dancing flames to the heights are shaking
soot-blackened smoke plumes.

But so you might know the occasion for this
call to joys: we herald the Ides of April,
happy day that cuts into halves the month of
ocean-born Venus;

day I hold in rightful regard, more sacred
almost than my own natal day, for from this
morning my Maecenas adds up his flowing
years as they pass by.

Telephus, whom you are pursuing--that boy
far above your station--is in the clutches
of a lusty rich girl who holds him bound in
pleasure's glad shackles.

Burning Phaethon warns against greedy hopes, and
Pegasus, who balked at Bellerophon, his
earthbound rider, offers to us a weighty
lesson in this vein:

that you always follow the fitting path, and
think it wrong to hope more than is permitted;
shun unequal matches. But come now, lovely
last of my lovers

(after this no woman shall heat my blood), and
learn a verse or two, then with your enchanting
voice recite them; so dark and gloomy cares in
song will diminish.