Bkiii:Xxi Praise Of Wine Poem by Horace

Faithful wine-jar, born, with me, in Manlius’
Consulship, whether you bring moans or laughter,
whether you bring mad love, and quarrels,
or whether you bring us gentle slumber,

whatever the end of the vintage Massic
you guard, that’s worthy of some auspicious day,
be emptied, Corvinus orders us
to bring out a much less powerful wine.

You apply gentle torture to wits that are
mostly dull: you reveal the cares of the wise,
and you uncover their secret thoughts,
by means of Bacchus’ happy pleasantries:

you bring fresh hope to those minds that are distressed,
and grant the poor man strength and courage, through you
he no longer trembles at the crowns
of angry kings, nor at soldiers’ weapons.

You, Bacchus, and delightful Venus, if she
would come, the Graces, reluctant to dissolve
their knot, and the bright lamps, will be here,
till Phoebus puts the stars to flight again.