We drank beneath the Apennines.
O Sun, O Bromius, grant that whole
In loving heart and virtuous soul
We to the quiet shades descend
(Where Horace is)—I and my friend.
Thy fortune smile upon the young
Like flowers around our banquet flung;
Peace to the mothers give, and fame
To valiant youth and love's sweet flame!
Odi Barbare.