University of Virginia Library

ODE VII. Book II.

To POMPEIUS GROSPHUS

Full oft, with Me, to Danger led!
With Me, to Life's last Limit prest!
(While Brutus was our warlike Head)
Pompeius, my First Friend, and Best!
Full oft with Whom, Time stole away,
Our Heads while Syrian Odors crown'd!
With Whom, short seem'd the Length of Day,
While copious Bowls our Labors drown'd!
Say, Friend, what Pow'r, inclin'd to spare
A free-born Soul, averts thy Doom?
Gives Thee, to breath Paternal Air?
Restores Thee, to thy Native Rome?
With Thee, Philippi's horrid Flight
I shar'd, nor well forsook my Shield;
Yet not, till Warriors, fam'd in Fight,
Or bit the Ground, or left the Field.
Me, seiz'd with Terror, Hermes bore,
Veil'd, thro' the Foe, o'er Hills of Slain;
Thee, War's strong Tide drove back from Shore,
A-new to try, her troubled Main.
Restor'd; to Jove the Rites perform,
Rites, due for Vows of Safety made!
Thy Limbs, long beaten by the Storm,
Repose beneath my Laurel Shade!
These Casks, take, destin'd to thy Use!
Pour Oil from those capacious Shells!
Drink deep of my Oblivious Juice!
My Massic ev'ry Grief dispells!
Who hastes the Myrtle Wreath to twine?
What Venus flies to crown my Guest?
Appoints the Ruler of the Wine?
And names the Master of the Feast?
I long to rage, with Rapture, Glad;
Wild, as a Thracian, o'er his Bowl!
And hold it Wisdom, to be Mad;
At Sight of Him, that fills my Soul!