Lauriger Horatius,
Quam dixisti verum!
Fugit Euro citius
Tempus edax rerum.
Chorus
Ubi sunt, O pocula,
Dulciora melle,
Rixae, pax, et oscula
Rubentis puellae?
Crescit uva molliter,
Et puella crescit,
Sed poeta turpiter
Sitiens canescit.
Quid iuvat aeternitas
Nominis, amare
Nisi terrae filias
Licet, et potare?
TRANSLATION
Horace, crowned with laurels bright,
Truly thou hast spoken;
Time outspeeds the swift winds' flight,
Earthly power is broken.
Chorus
Give me cups that foaming rise,
Cups with fragrance laden,
Pouting lips and smiling eyes,
Of a blushing maiden.
Blooming grows the budding vine,
And the maid grows blooming;
But the poet quaffs not wine,
Age is surely dooming.
Who would grasp at empty fame?
'Tis a fleeting vision;
But for love and wine we claim,
Sweetness all Elysian.
—Tr. J. A. Pearce, Jr.
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