Epodes 9 (Martin): Quando Repostum

"When, blest Maecenas, shall we twain
Beneath your stately roof a bowl
Of Caecuban long-hoarded drain,
In gladsomeness of soul,
For our great Caesar's victories,
"Whilst, as our cups are crown'd,
Lyres blend their Doric melodies
With flutes' Barbaric sound?

As when of late that braggart vain.
The self-styled "Son of Neptune" fled,
And far from the Sicilian main
With blazing ships he sped;
He, who on Home had vow'd in scorn
The manacles to bind,
Which he from faithless serfs had torn
To kindred baseness kind!

A Roman soldier, (ne'er, oh ne'er,
Posterity, the shame avow!)
A woman's slave, her arms doth bear,
And palisadoes now;
To wrinkled eunuchs crooks the knee,
And now the sun beholds
'Midst warriors' standards flaunting free
The vile pavilion's folds!

Madden'd to view this sight of shame,
Two thousand Gauls their horses wheel'd
And wildly shouting Caesar's name,
Deserted on the field;
Whilst steering leftwise o'er the sea
The foemen's broken fleet
Into the sheltering haven flee
In pitiful retreat.

Ho, Triumph! Wherefore stay ye here
The unbroke steers, the golden cars?
Ho! never brought ye back his peer
From the Jugurthine wars!
Nor mightier was the chief revered
Of that old famous time,
Who in the wreck of Carthage rear'd
His cenotaph sublime!

Vanquish'd by land and sea, the foe
His regal robes of purple shifts
For miserable weeds of woe,
And o'er the wild-waves drifts,
Where Crete amid the ocean stands
With cities many a score,
Or where o'er Afric's whirling sands
The Southern tempests roar.

Come, boy, and ampler goblets crown
With Chian or with Lesbian wine,
Or else our qualmish sickness drown
In Caecuban divine!
Thus let us lull our cares and sighs,
Our fears that will not sleep,
For Caesar, and his great emprise,
In goblets broad and deep!