Book III, Elegy 6: Lygdamus at the Feast (Postgate)

Fair Liber, come to me ; so mayst thou ever have thy mystic vine, so bear the ivy bound about thy brows. And do thou take away my pain with healing chalice. Oft has Love fallen, vanquished by thy bounty. Dear lad, let the cups be flooded with noble wine; slant the hand that pours out our Falernian.

Go. far away go, toils and troubles, heartless tribe. Here let the Delian shine with his birds of snow. Only, dear friends, ye must approve my project, and none refuse his company if I lead the way. Or if any shrinks from wine's gentle bouts, let his dear lass play him false with covert treachery. Our god softens the heart, he crushes the proud spirits and sends them under the strict yoke of a mistress. He vanquishes the Armenian tiger and the tawny lioness and puts a tame heart in the tameless. These things, and greater, can Love do. But do ye call for the gifts of Bacchus. For which of you have chill draughts charms ?

A mate and equal, with no front of menace, doth Liber show himself to such as pay their court to him and joyous wine at once ; while without bound or measure runs his wrath against the austere. Whoso fears a mighty god in anger, let him drink. For such what chastisement he threatens, what and how great the threatener,the bloody quarry of the Theban mother shows us well. But far from us be this terror ; let her feel all the anger of an outraged god. Ah, what is this mad prayer ? May the winds and clouds of heaven bear off and scatter all ways the reckless wish ! And, Neaera, though no thought of me survives in thy breast, mayst thou be happy and thy lot be bright. But let us devote these moments to the cheering board. After many days a cloudless one has come.

Ah me ! mock joys are hard to make ; 'tis hard to feign merriment when the heart is sad. Ill is it to force a false smile to the face ; ill is it when tipsy accents are heard from the distressed. Unhappy, what is this complaining ? Away, ye ugly cares Father Lenaeus loathes the language of sorrow. In old times, maid of Cnossos, thou wast left alone to mourn the perjuries of Theseus' tongue to an alien sea. So for thee, daughter of Minos, did accomplished Catullus sing, recounting the wicked doings of thy ingrate husband. And so I now warn you, friends. Fortunate wilt thou be who art taught by another's suffering to avoid thy own. Be not ye deceived by arms flung round your necks, or cheated by a knavish tongue with wheedling prayers. Though the beguiler swear by her eyes, by her Juno, by her Venus, there will be no truth in her words. Jupiter laughs at the false oaths of lovers, and bids the winds carry them off without fulfilment. Then why do I complain so oft of the words of a faithless girl ? Away from me, I pray, all serious talk ! How I could wish to pass with thee long nights of rest and spend with thee long waking days, maid faithless, and for no fault of mine — faithless, but, though faithless, beloved still.

Bacchus loves the Naiad. Dost thou lag, my slow attendant? Let Marcian water temper our ancient wine. If a trustless girl, in her yearning for a stranger's arms, has fled the entertainment of my table, shall I be sighing in distress the whole night through ? Not I. Come, boy, and without faltering pour in the bright wine. Long ago should I have drenched my brows with nard of Syria and twined a garland in my hair.