Odes 2.12 (Martin): Nolis Longa Ferae

Bid me not sing to my nerveless string
The wars of Numantia long and bloody,
Nor Hannibal dread, nor the ocean's bed
With the gore of our Punic foemen ruddy;

"Nor the Lapithae fierce, nor Hylaeus flush'd
With wine, nor the earth-born brood Titanic,
Whom the death-dealing hand of Alcides crush'd,
Though they smote the Saturnian halls with panic.

And thou, my Maecenas, shalt fitlier tell
The battles of Caesar in stateliest story,
Tell of kings, who defied us with menaces fell,
Led on through our streets in the triumph's glory.

My muse to Licymnia alone replies.
To her warbling voice, that divinely sways thee,
To the gleam of her flashing and lustrous eyes,
And true heart that passion for passion repays thee.

Ah, well doth the roundel beseem her charms,
Sparkling her wit, and, with loveliest vestals,
Most worthy is she to enlace her arms
In the dances of Dian's hilarious festals.

Would you, friend, for Phrygia's hoarded gold,
Or all that Achaemenes self possesses,
Or e'en for what Araby's coffers hold.
Barter one lock of her clustering tresses,

While she bends down her throat to your burning kiss,
Or, fondly cruel, the joy denies you,
She'd have you snatch, or at times the bliss
Herself will snatch, and with joy surprise you?