And in spring, he says—
Now does the flowery spring return,
And shed its gifts all o'er the land;
and he continues—
Come then, my boy, and quickly pour
A cup of luscious Lesbian wine.
And in his misfortunes he sings—
One must not give one's thoughts up wholly
To evil fortune; for by grieving
We shall not do ourselves much good.
Come to me, Bacchus; you are ever
The best of remedies, who bring
Us wine and joyous drunkenness.
And in his hours of joy he says—
Now is the time to get well drunk,
Now e'en in spite of self to drink,
Since Myrsilus is dead at last.
And, giving some general advice, he says—
Never plant any tree before the vine.