Yes, triumph!
     Hail, Caeser,
     Imperial one,
     Triumphant one!
     Twelve snow-white
     Steeds of Neptune
     Lead you upwards
     Under the shadow
     Of your trophies!
  Someday, as the Capitol today
  Greets your victorious chariot,
  The dawning of the farthest sun shall greet
  Your fame from pole to pole.

Oh triumph! oh triumph! In a chorus, a bacchanalian [chorus]
We accompany you up to the temple
Where the sacrifice expiates you, where you disperse
Slaves and tents with barbaric adornments, the booty of the world,
       To the sons of the people!

We throw the wreath, and we hail you with rejoicing,
We surround you with loud rejoicing, you who bring 
The kings, [who bring] the prisoners; already they follow you,
Chained to the chariot, diadems for scorn
       Around the pride of the subjugated heads.

They pace along after their shattered power,
Their garments yet spattered with the bloody dust
Of the lost battle, their sandals dusty
And their curly hair torn, dishevelled, and numb with pain,
       [Pace] like shades to the Stygian gateway.

[Hail Caesar and Lord! When you accede to the plea of the people,]1
Oh, then send the Parthians in first to do battle,
To do battle with the lion, for the arena has long
Thirsted for blood in the midday heat,
And, filled with remembrance, the lion thinks
Of many a Lybian hunt, he arises and roars out
       His [bloodthirsty, craving homesickness]2.

     Yes, triumph!
    Hail, legions!
    Over the world
    You travelled with victorious steps,
    Laurels to you and the crowns of the citizens!
    You bring us the spoils
    Of wild Britons,
    And flying banners 
    From Aetolia.
  Under your eagles’ wings,
  At the seven hills,
  Like currents of the ocean,
  The gods of all lands arrive!