Upon March Calends what can be the rite
That I, unwedded, celebrate, what mean
These flowers, the incense, and the charcoal bright
Laid on turf altar green,

You wonder, though in Greek and Latin lore
Expert. 'Tis Liber's banquet vowed by me
Of cates and a white goat, when nigh death's door
Brought by a falling tree.

This feastday, as each year it comes again,
Shall draw the pitch-sealed cork forth from the lip
Of smoky wine jar set warm fumes to drain
In Tullus' consulship.

In fivescore cups, Maecenas, toast your friend
Preserved to life. Keep till the dawn of day
The lamps alight. Let no high words offend.
Be anger far away.

Put by your labours for the city's weal.
The host of Dacian Cotiso is o'erthrown:
The Medes torn by dissension use their steel
To hurt themselves alone:

On Spanish shore our old Cantabrian foe
Is tamed at last, and meekly wears his chains:
The Scyth is minded to unstring his bow,
And move from off the plains.

Doff office; be not with too anxious care
Troubled lest aught of ill the state betide;
Enjoy what boons the present hour may bear;
Lay serious thoughts aside.