78. On the Games Given by Stella in Domitian's Honour
Such games as might the gods' own victory grace,
Or Bacchus celebrate with smiling face,
Now for thy northern triumph Stella gives
And still unworthy of his love believes.
For him suffice not Hermus' golden sands
Nor Tagus with the wealth of western lands.
Each day hath its own gift; the bounteous cord
Rich plunder to the people doth afford.
Now sportive tokens fall in sudden cloud
And give the arena victims to the crowd:
Now birds, no longer mangled, come by lot
Unharmed to those who have the ticket got.
Why should I tell of prizes three times ten,
Such as the consuls' games scarce give to men.
For there is one thing that surpasses all;
Thou, Sire, art here to watch thy festival.
Or Bacchus celebrate with smiling face,
Now for thy northern triumph Stella gives
And still unworthy of his love believes.
For him suffice not Hermus' golden sands
Nor Tagus with the wealth of western lands.
Each day hath its own gift; the bounteous cord
Rich plunder to the people doth afford.
Now sportive tokens fall in sudden cloud
And give the arena victims to the crowd:
Now birds, no longer mangled, come by lot
Unharmed to those who have the ticket got.
Why should I tell of prizes three times ten,
Such as the consuls' games scarce give to men.
For there is one thing that surpasses all;
Thou, Sire, art here to watch thy festival.
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