I.

Shall we forget how, in our day, The Sabine fields about us lay In amaranth and asphodel, And bubbling, cold Bandusian well, Fair Pyrrhas haunting every way? In dells of forest faun and fay, Moss-lounged within the fountain's spray, How drained we wines too rare to tell, Shall we forget?

The fine Falernian or the ray Of fiery Cæcuban, while gay We heard Bacchantes shout and yell, Filled full of Bacchus, and so fell To dreaming of some Lydia; Shall we forget?