Classic Poem

When you start your planting, Varus,
Let your first thought be the vine;
Knowing how its powers spare us
When our cares and doubts combine,
Knowing how the fears that snare us
Vanish with the use of wine.

Wine is cheering and sustaining;
Thoughts of harm and dreams of war
In the cups that we are draining
Fade away and, as we pour
Wine anew, our cares are waning—
Poverty is felt no more.

Yet with all your deep potations,
Check the overpowering thirst;
Do not quaff with wild impatience—
Moderate your passion first.
Bear in mind the brutal Thracians,
Even by great Pan accursed.

When their passions have been fired,
Armed with wine and roused with song,
They will fight as if inspired
With mad fury, and ere long
Gain the thing that they desired,
Caring naught for right or wrong.

Never will I rouse thee, Bacchus,
'Gainst thy will as in the past.
Cease thy cymbals, then, that rack us;
Hush thy trumpets' brazen blast,
For they make false Pride attack us
And the Faith that does not last.