Odes 4.1 (Gladstone): Intermissa, Venus

The feud, at rest for many a day,
Why stir anew? Have done, I pray
I am not now the man, I ween,
I was when Cinara was Queen.

Fierce mother of soft Cupids, why
To bend rough limbs at fifty, try
In flexure lithe? Betake thee, where
Youth calls thee back with coaxing prayer.

Far better, in thy swan-borne rides,
Where Paulus Maximus abides,
Go revel: and engender heat
Within some frame whose age is meet.

For noble he, and nobly trained,
A speaker bold for men arraigned;
A youth with hundred gifts supplied
To bear thy trophies far and wide.

By Alba's lake, in citron niche,
To mock some rival mean but rich,
With conqueror's smile, for record here
Thy marble image he will rear.

Abundant incense shall salute
Thy nostrils; and the lyre, and flute,
And Berecynthian pipe prolong
The dear delight, with mingled song.

Twice tender maids on all the days
And boys thy force divine shall praise;
And thrice their feet of dainty white
In Salian dance the earth shall smite.

Me nothing moves; nor maid, nor boy,
Nor hope of friendship's mutual joy;
In bouts of wine I count not now,
Nor bind with fresh-cut flowers my brow.