Epodes 13 (Martin): Horrida Tempestas

With storm and wrack the sky is black, and sleet and dashing rain
With all the gather'd streams of heaven are deluging the plain;
Now roars the sea, the forests roar with the shrill north-wind of Thrace,
Then let us snatch the hour, my friends, the hour that flies apace,
Whilst yet the bloom is on our cheeks, and rightfully we may
With song and jest and jollity keep wrinkled age at bay!
Bring forth a jar of lordly wine, whose years my own can mate.
Its ruby juices stain'd the vats in Torquatus' consulate!.
No word of anything that's sad; whate'er may be amiss
The Gods belike will change to some vicissitude of bliss!
With Achaemenian nard bedew our locks, and troubles dire
Subdue to rest in every breast with the Cyllenian lyre!
So to his peerless pupil once the noble Centaur sang
"Invincible, yet mortal, who from Goddess Thetis sprang,
Thee waits Assaracus's realm, where arrowy Simois glides,
That realm which chill Scamander's rill with scanty stream divides.
Whence never more shalt thou return, — the Parcae so decree,
Nor shall thy blue-eyed mother home again e'er carry thee,
Then chase with wine and song divine each grief and trouble there.
The sweetest, surest antidotes of beauty-marring care!