Odes 3.28 (Martin): Festo Quid Potius

What goodlier or fitter plan
Have I for Neptune's festal day?
Then forth the hoarded Caecuban,
My Lyde, bring without delay,
And for a season, if you can,
Fling wisdom's sober saws away!

You see the waning light decay,
And yet you pause and hesitate, —
As though the day its flight would stay, —
To pluck down from its cellar'd state
The amphora, was stored away
In Bibulus's consulate.

In alternating strains shall we
Sing Neptune, and the deep-green hair
Of Nereids sporting through the sea;
And thou on curved lyre with fair
Latona, and the shafts so free
Of Cynthia, shalt enchant the air.

And she, who Cnidos makes her care,
And dwells amidst the Cyclads bright,
And doth to Paphos oft repair
With team of swans for her delight,
Shall have our closing song; and rare
Shall be our hymn in praise of Night.