Odes 3.14 (Gladstone): Herculis Ritu

If Caesar went from Rome, with life
To win like Hercules his bays,
He brings from Spain and ended strife
A victor's praise.

Thou wife, who lov'st no lord but one,
(Due rites performed); in suppliant wreath,
Ye matrons, grateful for a son
Just snatched from death;

With Caesar's sister all come forth;
And you, each youth, each youthful bride,
Refrain from words of little worth
That woe betide.

Nor care nor mourning shall beset
This happy day: no tumult I
While Caesar rules, can dread, nor yet
By force to die.

Boy, carry nard and garlands round,
And wine that knew the Marsian war,
That Spartacus had never found,
Though roving far.

Let musical Neaera's hair
Be gathered in myrrh-breathing knot:
If keepers stop thy way, forbear
And quit the spot.

My taste for frays provoked amiss
Grey hairs have purged: my youth's hot morn,
With Plancus Consul, wrongs like this
Would not have borne.