P OMPEIUS , best of all my comrades, you and I
Often faced death when we were rebels.
Who brings you back, a citizen again,
To Italian gods and sky?

With ointment on our hair and wine
We helped along the days that used to linger.
We went through Philippi's swift rout together, too.
That little shield of mine

Was thrown away, while all around us
Courage broke and the threateners,
Chins in the dust, grovelled on
The disgraceful ground.

Me out of danger's reach the god of poets bore
Swiftly through the sustaining air;
You the boiling tides sucked back again
To fight once more.

Finally, your lengthy service ended,
Lay your weariness beneath my laurel tree.
Feast, and do not overlook the dreamy Massic
Just for you intended.

Fill up the polished cups. Whom will the Venus-throw receive
As drinking master? Who will see that crowns are made
Of parsley with the moisture still upon it
Or of myrtle leaves?

Pour ointment from the shells, and comb
It in your hair. I will drink like any toper.
For it is sweet to be a little mad
When a friend comes home.