O best guardian of the Roman people, born under propitious gods, already
art thou too long absent; after having promised a mature arrival to the
sacred council of the senators, return. Restore, O excellent chieftain,
the light to thy country; for, like the spring, wherever thy countenance
has shone, the day passes more agreeably for the people, and the sun has
a superior lustre. As a mother, with vows, omens, and prayers, calls for
her son (whom the south wind with adverse gales detains from his sweet
home, staying more than a year beyond the Carpathian Sea), nor turns
aside her looks from the curved shore; in like manner, inspired with
loyal wishes, his country seeks for Caesar. For, [under your auspices,]
the ox in safety traverses the meadows: Ceres nourishes the ground; and
abundant Prosperity: the sailors skim through the calm ocean: and Faith
is in dread of being censured. The chaste family is polluted by no
adulteries: morality and the law have got the better of that foul crime;
the child-bearing women are commended for an offspring resembling [the
father; and] punishment presses as a companion upon guilt. Who can fear
the Parthian? Who, the frozen Scythian? Who, the progeny that rough
Germany produces, while Caesar is in safety? Who cares for the war of
fierce Spain? Every man puts a period to the day amid his own hills, and
weds the vine to the widowed elm-trees; hence he returns joyful to his
wine, and invites you, as a deity, to his second course; thee, with many
a prayer, thee he pursues with wine poured out [in libation] from the
cups; and joins your divinity to that of his household gods, in the same
manner as Greece was mindful of Castor and the great Hercules. May you,
excellent chieftain, bestow a lasting festivity upon Italy! This is our
language, when we are sober at the early day; this is our language, when
we have well drunk, at the time the sun is beneath the ocean.
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