For if any, together with wealth abounding, have won him renown far-shining bright,
It can nowise be that a mortal’s feet may attain any loftier mountain-height.
Peace loveth the banquet: a conqueror’s fame like a tree grows with fresh-blossoming glory
Watered by soft-dropping dews of song. By the goblet the bard’s voice waxeth bold.
Let them mingle the mazer that heraldeth sweetly triumph’s processional-chant outrolled,