| Ode I iv To Sestius |
| Zephyr and the coming spring melt away this sharp winter. By the sea, they are dragging the dried boats down to the water. In the country, the animals in the stalls and the ploughman before the fire are restless, now that the meadows no longer sparkle with morning frost. Now as the moon leans over, Love leads the dance. Nymphes and Graces, in measured syncopation, step lively on bare feet while burning Vulcan and his giants prepare the summer storms. Now is the time to tie up your hair with vines and green flowers offered by the generous earth; now it is right to sacrifice to Faunus in the green sylvan shade and accompany your prayers with a lamb or a goat if you prefer. Pale Death's rounds lead him to the pauper's hovel as well as the rich man's fortress. O Sestius! Do not take in hand such long hopes, Since all life is brief. Now Night and the mythical Shades are closely pursuing you even to the house of Pluto. Where will you go then, when there are no more parties? No time to gaze lovingly upon Lycidas or to be excited by this or that youth, when the warmth of life has left you. |