Odes 1.32 (Martin): Poscimur

If e'er with thee, my lyre, beneath the shade
I've sported, carolling some idle lay,
Destined mayhap not all at once to fade,
Aid me to sing a master-song to-day.
In strains, the Lesbian's lyre was foremost to essay;

Who, though in battle brave among the brave,
Yet, even amidst the camp's tumultuous roar,
Or when his bark, long toss'd upon the wave.
Lay anchor'd safe upon the oozy shore.
Did hymns to Bacchus and the golden Muses pour.

And Venus, and that source of many sighs.
The Boy, who from her side is parted ne'er,
And Lycus famed for his black lustrous eyes,
And for the glory of his deep dark hair,
Rang in his full-toned verse along the charmed air.

O, 'midst Apollo's glories chief of all.
Thou shell, that ever art a welcome guest,
In sovereign Jove's imperial banquet-hall.
Thou, labour's balm, and bringer of sweet rest,
Aid him that doth on thee with due devotion call!