Classic Poem

LIB . II. Ode VII.— A FELLOW-SOLDIER WELCOMED FROM EXILE.

Friend of my soul! with whom arrayed
I stood in the ranks of peril,
When Brutus at Philippi made
That effort wild and sterile…
Who hath reopened Rome to thee,
Her temples and her forum;
Beckoning the child of Italy
Back to the clime that bore him?
Thou, O my earliest comrade! say,
Pompey, was I thy teacher
To baulk old Time, and drown the day
Deep in a flowing pitcher?
Think of the hours we thus consumed,
While Syria's richest odours,
Lavish of fragrancy, perfumed
The locks of two marauders.
With thee I shared Philippi's rout,
Though I, methinks, ran faster;
Leaving behind—'twas wrong, no doubt—
My SHIELD in the disaster:
E'en Fortitude that day broke down;
And the rude foeman taught her
To hide her brow's dimmished frown
Low amid heaps of slaughter.
But Mercury, who kindly watched
Me 'mid that struggle deadly,
Stooped from a cloud, and quickly snatched
His client from the medley.
While thee, alas! the ebbing flood
Of war relentless swallowed,
Replunging thee 'mid seas of blood;
And years of tempest followed.
Then slay to Jove the victim calf,
Due to the God;—and weary,
Under my bower of laurels quaff
A wine-cup blithe and merry.
Here, while thy war-worn limbs repose,
'Mid peaceful scenes sojourning,
Spare not the wine.. 'twas kept.. it flows
To welcome thy returning.
Come, with oblivious bowls dispel
Grief, care, and disappointment!
Freely from yon capacious shell
Shed, shed the balmy ointment!
Who for the genial banquet weaves
Gay garlands, gathered newly;
Fresh with the garden's greenest leaves,
Or twined with myrtle duly?
Whom shall the dice's cast “ WINE-KING ”
Elect, by Venus guided?
Quick, let my roof with wild mirth ring—
Blame not my joy, nor chide it!
Madly each bacchanalian feat
I mean to-day to rival,
For, oh! 'tis sweet thus … THUS TO GREET
SOdeAR A FRIEND'S ARRIVAL !