Odes 1.31 (Gladstone): Quid Dedicatum

Why to Apollo's shrine repair
New hallowed? Why present with prayer
Libation? Not those crops to gain,
Which fill Sardinia's teeming plain,

Herds from Calabria's sunny fields,
Nor ivory that India yields,
Nor gold, nor tracts where Liris glides
So noiseless down its drowsy sides.

Blest owners of Calenian vines,
Crop them; ye merchants, drain the wines,
That cargoes brought from Syria buy,
In cups of gold. For ye, who try

The broad Atlantic thrice a year
And never drown, must sure be dear
To gods in heaven. Me — small my need —
Light mallows, olives, chicory, feed.

Give me then health, Apollo; give
Sound mind; on gotten goods to live
Contented; and let song engage
An honoured, not a base, old age.