Odes 1.18 (Gladstone): Nullam, Vare

Beside the walls Catillus built,
On Tibur's soft incline,
No other tree, O Varus, rear
Before the sacred vine:
So may'st thou 'scape corroding care,
So leave ('tis Heaven's design)
All ills to those that shun the wine.

Who croaks of want, or warfare's toils,
Ill theme beside the wine?
Thy gift, Sire Bacchus, better far,
Or, winsome Venus, thine.

Yet, lest we overleap the bounds
Of modest use to warn,
The Centaurs mark, and Lapithae,
Their brawl of revel born.

Nor was the hand of Evius light
On that Sithonian crew,
What time the shadowy bounds of right
And wrong they lost from view,
Their greed and passion to pursue.

Not I, frank-hearted Bassareus,
Will thy repose invade,
Nor drag to sunlight what thou hid'st
With twinkling leafy shade.

Be mute then, Berecynthian horn:
Lie, maddening drums, at rest
With all your train: purblind Conceit,
Brag, tossing high its crest,
Prouder than pride; and leaking Faith,
That lets the secret pass,
More limpid than a thing of glass.