ODE XXXVIII.— LAST ODE OF BOOK THE FIRST .

AD MINISTRUM. DIRECTIONS FOR SUPPER .

Slave! for my feast, in humble grot
Let Persia's pomps be all forgot;
With twimng garlands worry not
Thy weary fingers,
Nor heed in what secluded spot
The last rose lingers.

Let but a modest myrtle-wreath,
In graceful guise, our temples sheathe—
Nor thou nor I aught else herewith
Can want, I'm thinking,
Cupbearer thou;—and I, beneath
The wine-tree drinking.