TO POMPEIUS VARUS.
Horace
O thou, often reduced with me to the last extremity in the war which
Brutus carried on, who has restored thee as a Roman citizen, to the gods
of thy country and the Italian air, Pompey, thou first of my companions;
with whom I have frequently broken the tedious day in drinking, having
my hair, shining with the Syrian maiobathrum, crowned [with flowers]!
Together with thee did I experience the [battle of] Phillippi and a
precipitate flight, having shamefully enough left my shield; when valor
was broken, and the most daring smote the squalid earth with their
faces. But Mercury swift conveyed me away, terrified as I was, in a
thick cloud through the midst of the enemy. Thee the reciprocating sea,
with his tempestuous waves, bore back again to war. Wherefore render to
Jupiter the offering that is due, and deposit your limbs, wearied with a
tedious war, under my laurel, and spare not the casks reserved for you.
Fill up the polished bowls with care-dispelling Massic: pour out the
perfumed ointments from the capacious shells. Who takes care to quickly
weave the chaplets of fresh parsely or myrtle? Whom shall the Venus
pronounce to be master of the revel? In wild carouse I will become
frantic as the Bacchanalians. 'Tis delightful to me to play the madman,
on the reception of my friends.
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