The crimson wine is sparkling nicely in the glass,
The guests' eyes are shining too,
A gesture is made to the singer, he steps forward,
To good things he brings the best,
For in a heavenly hall, without the lyre,
Joy is vulgar, even when at a feast with nectar.

The gods gave him a pure disposition,
In which the whole world, the infinite world, is reflected,
He has seen everything that happens on earth
And what the future has sealed from us.
He sat in the original council of the gods
And listened in on the most secret seeds of things.

All aglow, he cheerfully spreads it all out,
Life that had been folded up.
His decoration transforms an earthly house into a temple,
This is what the Muse has given him,
There is no roof so low, no hut so small,
Into which he does not introduce a heaven full of gods. 

And just as the inventive son of Zeus took
The simple circle of the shield and on it presented
The earth, the sea and the circle of the stars,
Portraying them with divine art,
So he (the singer) prints an image of the everlasting All
In the fleeting, dying sound of the moment.

He comes from the infant age of the world,
Where the people enjoyed themselves in a youthful way,
As a cheerful wanderer he has joined in with
All generations and all times.
He has seen four ages of human beings
And is prepared to experience a fifth.

At first Saturn ruled, simple and just.
At that time today was like tomorrow,
The shepherds, a harmless race, lived then
And they didn't need to worry about anything,
They just loved and didn't do anything else,
The earth gave out everything willingly.

Then came work, battles began
With monsters and dragons,
Heroes and leaders emerged,
And the weak sought out the strong,
And the struggle led to the battlefield of Scamander
But beauty was still the god of the world.

Out of battle victory eventually emerged,
And power blossomed into gentleness,
The Muses then sang in a heavenly choir
And at that time images of the gods were raised!
The age of divine imagination
Has vanished, it is never going to return.

The gods sank from heaven's throne,
The mighty columns fell,
And the Virgin's son was born
To heal the affliction of the earth.
The fleeting pleasures of the senses were banished
And humans clasped thinking to their breasts.

And vain, luxurious charms went away,
Those that had adorned the world in its youth,
Monks and nuns flagellated themselves,
And the knight in armour jousted.
But although life was both dark and savage
Love remained lovely and gentle.

And a holy, chaste altar
Was quietly devoted to the Muses.
What was noble and moral lived on
In the innocent breasts of women.
The flame of song flared anew
In praise of beautiful Love and loving devotion.

Therefore an eternal, tender bond should also
Be woven around women and singers,
They work and weave hand in hand
Making the belt of Beauty of Justice.
Song and Love in a beautiful union,
They maintain the youthful appearance of life.