Horace, Book I, Ode 19 (translation)

Yes! I am caught, my melting soul
To Venus bends without control,
I pour the empassioned sigh.
Ye Gods! what throbs my bosom move,
Responsive to the glance of love,
That beams from Stella's eye.

Oh, how divinely fair that face,
And what a sweet resistless grace
On every feature dwells!
And on those features all the while
The softness of each frequent smile
Her sweet good-nature tells.

O Love! I'm thine — no more I sing
Heroic deeds — the sounding string
Forgets its wonted strains;
For aught but love the lyre's unstrung,
Love melts and trembles on my tongue,
And thrills in every vein.

Invoking the propitious skies,
The green-sod altar let us rise,
Let holy incense smoke:
And if we pour the sparkling wine,
Sweet, gentle peace may still be mine,
This dreadful chain be broke!