Odes 2.7 (Gladstone): O Saepe Mecum

O oft with me, where Brutus fought.
To straits reduced, say in what wise
Came it, that thou art safely brought
Back to thy country's gods and skies?

Pompey, my chief of comrades! thou
And I oft chid the lagging day
Beside the bowl; well crowned my brow,
My hair with Syrian unguent gay.

Philippi's headlong rout we shared,
I parted from my targe, not well;
When valour quailed, and they that dared
To threaten loud, inglorious fell.

Me Mercury in sable cloud
Safe through my foes, though trembling, brought
Thee backward to the eddying crowd
The war's tumultuous billow caught.

Come then, to Jove the banquet pay;
'T is due: beneath my laurel-tree
At length thy limbs war-wearied lay,
Nor spare my cask, 'tis marked for thee.

Its perfumes let that shell resign;
Fill tankards bright, thy toils to drown
In Massic: who shall quickest twine
The parsley or the myrtle crown?

Whom shall the die of Venus tell,
To rule the feast? My bacchic strain
Shall match the Edons'. Aye, 'tis well
To rave; our friend is home again.