Odes From Horace. - To Phyllis. Inviting Her To Celebrate The Birthday Of Mcenas. Book The Fourth, Ode The Eleventh.

Sweet Phyllis, leave thy quiet home,      For lo! the ides of April come!         Then hasten to my bower;      A cask of rich Albanian wine,      In nine years mellowness, is mine,         To glad the festal hour.      My garden-herbs, in fragrance warm,      Our various chaplets wait to form;         My tender ivies grow,      That, twining in thy amber hair,      Add jocund spirit to thine air,         And whiteness to thy brow.      My walls with silver vessels shine;      Chaste vervain decks the modest shrine,         That longs with crimson stains      To see its foliage sprinkled o'er,      When the devoted Lamb shall pour         The treasure of his veins.      The household Girls, and menial Boy,      From room to room assiduous fly,         And busy hands extend;      Our numerous fires are quivering bright,      And, rolling from their pointed height,         The dusky wreaths ascend[1].      Convivial rites, in mystic state,      Thou, lovely Nymph, shalt celebrate,         And give the day to mirth      That this [2]Love-chosen month divides;      Since honor'd rose its blooming ides         By dear Mcenas' birth.      O! not to me my natal star      So sacred seems; - then, Nymph, prepare         To grace its smiling dawn!      A wealthier Maid, in pleasing chains,      Illustrious [3]Telephus detains,         From humble THEE withdrawn.      When Pride would daring hopes create,      Of Phaeton recall the fate,         Consum'd in his career!      Let rash Bellerophon, who tried      The fiery Pegasus to guide,         Awake thy prudent fear!      Thus warn'd, thy better interest know,      And cease those charming eyes to throw         On Youths of high degree!      Come then, of all my Loves the last,      For, every other passion past,         I only burn for thee!      Come, and with tuneful voice rehearse      The measures of thy Poet's verse         And charm the list'ning Throng!      Believe me, Fairest, all our cares      Will soften at the melting airs         That deck the lyric song.