Come radiant Bacchus! With the hallowed leaf
Of grape and ivy be thy forehead crowned!
For thou canst chase away or cure my grief—
Let love in wine be drowned!

Dear bearer of my cup, come, brim it o'er!
Pour forth unstinted our Falernian wine!
Care's cruel brood is gone; I toil no more,
If Phoebus o'er me shine.

Dear, jovial friends, let not a lip be dry!
Drink as I drink, and every toast obey!
And him who will not with my wine-cup vie,
May some false lass betray!

This god makes all men rich. He tames proud souls,
And bids them by a woman's hand be chained;
Armenian tigresses his power controls,
And lions tawny-maned.

That love-god is as strong; but I delight
In Bacchus rather. Fill our cups once more!
Just and benign is he, if mortal wight
Him and his vines adore!

But, O! he rages, if his gift ye spurn.
Drink, if ye dare not a god's anger brave!
How fierce his stroke, let temperate fellows learn
Of Pentheus' gory grave.

Away such fear! Rather may some fierce stroke
On that false beauty fall!—O frightful prayer!
O, I am mad! O may my curse be broke,
And melt in misty air!

For, O Neaera, though I am forgot,
I ask all gods to bless thee, every one.
Back to my cups I go. This wine has brought
After long storms, the sun.

Alas! How hard to masque dull grief in joy!
A sad heart's jest—what bitter mockery!
With vain deceit my laughing lips employ
Loud mirth that is a lie.

But why complain and moan? O wretched me!
When will my lagging sorrows haste and go?
Delightful Bacchus at his mystery
Forbids these words of woe.

Once, by the wave, lone Ariadne pale,
Abandoned of false Theseus, weeping stood:—
Our wise Catullus tells the doleful tale
Of love's ingratitude.

Take warning friends! How fortunate is he,
Who learns of others' loss his own to shun!
Trust not caressing arms and sighs, nor be
By flatteries undone!

Though by her own sweet eyes her oath she swear,
By solemn Juno, or by Venus gay,
At oaths of love Jove laughs, and bids the air
Waft the light things away.

It is but folly, then, to fume and fret,
If one light lass that old deception wrought;
O that I too might evermore forget
To speak my heart's true thought!

O that my long, long nights brought peace and thee!
That nought but thee my waking eyes did fill!
Thou wert most false and cruel, woe is me!
False! But I love thee still.

How well fresh water mixes with old wine!
Bacchus loves water-nymphs. Bring water, boy!
What care I where she sleeps? This night of mine
Shall I in sighs employ?

Make the cup strong, I tell you! Stronger there!
Wine only! While the Syrian balm o'er-flows!
Long would I revel with anointed hair,
And wear this wreath of rose.