{"id":38805,"date":"2017-02-14T20:35:01","date_gmt":"2017-02-15T04:35:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/?page_id=38805"},"modified":"2017-02-14T20:35:15","modified_gmt":"2017-02-15T04:35:15","slug":"horace-the-odes","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/horace-the-odes\/","title":{"rendered":"Horace The Odes"},"content":{"rendered":"

http:\/\/www.poetryintranslation.com\/PITBR\/Latin\/HoraceOdesBkI.htm<\/a><\/p>\n

Horace: The Odes<\/p>\n

Book I<\/p>\n

Translated by A. S. Kline \u00c2\u00a9 Copyright 2003 All Rights Reserved<\/p>\n

This work may be freely reproduced, stored, and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose.<\/p>\n

Translator\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Note<\/p>\n

Horace fully exploited the metrical possibilities offered to him by Greek lyric verse. I have followed the original Latin metre in all cases, giving a reasonably close English version of Horace\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s strict forms. Rhythm not rhyme is the essence. Please try reading slowly to identify the rhythm of the first verse of each poem, before reading the whole poem through. Counting syllables, and noting the natural rhythm of individual phrases, may help. Those wishing to understand the precise scansion of Latin lyric verse should consult a specialist text. The Collins Latin Dictionary, for example, includes a good summary. The metres used by Horace in each of the Odes, giving the standard number of syllables per line only, are listed at the end of this text (see the Index below).<\/p>\n

Contents<\/p>\n

Translator\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Note
\nBkI:I The Dedication: To Maecenas
\nBkI:II To Augustus
\nBkI:III Virgil: Off to Greece
\nBkI:IV Spring
\nBkI:V Treacherous Girl
\nBkI:VI A Tribute to Agrippa
\nBkI:VII Tibur (the modern Tivoli)
\nBkI:VIII : To Lydia: Stop Ruining Sybaris!
\nBkI:IX Winter
\nBkI:X To Mercury
\nBkI:XI Carpe Diem
\nBkI:XII Praising Augustus
\nBkI:XIII His Jealousy
\nBkI:XIV The Ship of State
\nBkI:XV Nereus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Prophecy of Troy
\nBkI:XVI He Repents
\nBkI:XVII The Delights of the Country
\nBkI:XVIII Wine
\nBkI:XIX Glycera\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Beauty
\nBkI:XX To Maecenas
\nBkI:XXI Hymn to Diana
\nBkI:XXII Singing of Lalage (Integer Vitae)
\nBkI:XXIII Chlo\u00c3\u00ab, Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t Run.
\nBkI:XXIV A Lament For Quintilius
\nBkI:XXV A Prophecy of Age
\nBkI:XXVI A Garland For Lamia
\nBkI:XXVII Entanglement
\nBkI:XXVIII Three Handfuls of Earth
\nBkI:XXIX Off To The Wars
\nBkI:XXX Ode To Venus
\nBkI:XXXI A Prayer to Apollo
\nBkI:XXXII To the Lyre
\nBkI:XXXIII Tibullus, Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t Grieve
\nBkI:XXXIV Fortune\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Changes
\nBkI:XXXV To Fortune
\nBkI:XXXVI Numida\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Back Again
\nBkI:XXXVII Cleopatra
\nBkI:XXXVIII The Simple Myrtle<\/p>\n

\n

BkI:I The Dedication: To Maecenas<\/p>\n

Maecenas, descendant of royal ancestors,<\/p>\n

O my protector, and my sweet glory,<\/p>\n

some are delighted by showers of dust,<\/p>\n

Olympic dust, over their chariots, they<\/p>\n

are raised to the gods, as Earth\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s masters, by posts<\/p>\n

clipping the red-hot wheels, by noble palms:<\/p>\n

this man, if the fickle crowd of Citizens<\/p>\n

compete to lift him to triple honours:<\/p>\n

that one, if he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s stored away in his granary<\/p>\n

whatever he gleaned from the Libyan threshing.<\/p>\n

The peasant who loves to break clods in his native<\/p>\n

fields, won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t be tempted, by living like Attalus,<\/p>\n

to sail the seas, in fear, in a Cyprian boat.<\/p>\n

The merchant afraid of the African winds as<\/p>\n

they fight the Icarian waves, loves the peace<\/p>\n

and the soil near his town, but quickly rebuilds<\/p>\n

his shattered ships, unsuited to poverty.<\/p>\n

There\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s one who won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t scorn cups of old Massic,<\/p>\n

nor to lose the best part of a whole day lying<\/p>\n

under the greenwood tree, or softly<\/p>\n

close to the head of sacred waters.<\/p>\n

Many love camp, and the sound of trumpets<\/p>\n

mixed with the horns, and the warfare hated<\/p>\n

by mothers. The hunter, sweet wife forgotten,<\/p>\n

stays out under frozen skies, if his faithful<\/p>\n

hounds catch sight of a deer, or a Marsian<\/p>\n

wild boar rampages, through his close meshes.<\/p>\n

But the ivy, the glory of learned brows,<\/p>\n

joins me to the gods on high: cool groves,<\/p>\n

and the gathering of light nymphs and satyrs,<\/p>\n

draw me from the throng, if Euterpe the Muse<\/p>\n

won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t deny me her flute, and Polyhymnia<\/p>\n

won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t refuse to exert herself on her Lesbian lyre.<\/p>\n

And if you enter me among all the lyric poets,<\/p>\n

my head too will be raised to touch the stars.<\/p>\n

BkI:II To Augustus<\/p>\n

The Father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sent enough dread hail<\/p>\n

and snow to earth already, striking<\/p>\n

sacred hills with fiery hand,<\/p>\n

to scare the city,<\/p>\n

and scare the people, lest again<\/p>\n

we know Pyrrha\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s age of pain<\/p>\n

when Proteus his sea-herds drove<\/p>\n

across high mountains,<\/p>\n

and fishes lodged in all the elms,<\/p>\n

that used to be the haunt of doves,<\/p>\n

and the trembling roe-deer swam<\/p>\n

the whelming waters.<\/p>\n

We saw the yellow Tiber\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s waves<\/p>\n

hurled backwards from the Tuscan shore,<\/p>\n

toppling Numa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Regia and<\/p>\n

the shrine of Vesta,<\/p>\n

far too fierce now, the fond river,<\/p>\n

in his revenge of wronged Ilia,<\/p>\n

drowning the whole left bank, deep,<\/p>\n

without permission.<\/p>\n

Our children, fewer for their father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s<\/p>\n

vices, will hear metal sharpened<\/p>\n

that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s better destined for the Persians,<\/p>\n

and of battles too.<\/p>\n

Which gods shall the people call on<\/p>\n

when the Empire falls in ruins?<\/p>\n

With what prayer shall the virgins<\/p>\n

tire heedless Vesta?<\/p>\n

Whom will Jupiter assign to<\/p>\n

expiate our sins? We pray you,<\/p>\n

come, cloud veiling your bright shoulders,<\/p>\n

far-sighted Apollo:<\/p>\n

or laughing Venus Erycina,<\/p>\n

if you will, whom Cupid circles,<\/p>\n

or you, if you see your children<\/p>\n

neglected, Leader,<\/p>\n

you sated from the long campaign,<\/p>\n

who love the war-shouts and the helmets,<\/p>\n

and the Moor\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s cruel face among his<\/p>\n

blood-stained enemies.<\/p>\n

Or you, winged son of kindly Maia,<\/p>\n

changing shape on earth to human<\/p>\n

form, and ready to be named as<\/p>\n

Caesar\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s avenger:<\/p>\n

Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t rush back to the sky, stay long<\/p>\n

among the people of Quirinus,<\/p>\n

no swifter breeze take you away,<\/p>\n

unhappy with our<\/p>\n

sins: here to delight in triumphs,<\/p>\n

in being called our prince and father,<\/p>\n

making sure the Medes are punished,<\/p>\n

lead us, O Caesar.<\/p>\n

BkI:III Virgil: Off to Greece<\/p>\n

May the goddess, queen of Cyprus,<\/p>\n

and Helen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s brothers, the brightest of stars,<\/p>\n

and father of the winds, Aeolus,<\/p>\n

confining all except Iapyga, guide you,<\/p>\n

ship, that owes us Virgil, given<\/p>\n

to your care, guide you to Attica\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s shores,<\/p>\n

bring him safely there I beg you,<\/p>\n

and there watch over half of my spirit.<\/p>\n

Triple bronze and oak encircled<\/p>\n

the breast of the man who first committed<\/p>\n

his fragile bark to the cruel sea,<\/p>\n

without fearing the fierce south-westerlies<\/p>\n

fighting with the winds from the north,<\/p>\n

the sad Hyades, or the raging south,<\/p>\n

master of the Adriatic,<\/p>\n

whether he stirs or he calms the ocean.<\/p>\n

What form of death could he have feared,<\/p>\n

who gazed, dry-eyed, on swimming monsters,<\/p>\n

saw the waves of the sea boiling,<\/p>\n

and Acroceraunia\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s infamous cliffs?<\/p>\n

Useless for a wise god to part<\/p>\n

the lands, with a far-severing Ocean,<\/p>\n

if impious ships, in spite of him,<\/p>\n

travel the depths he wished inviolable.<\/p>\n

Daring enough for anything,<\/p>\n

the human race deals in forbidden sin.<\/p>\n

That daring son of Iapetus<\/p>\n

brought fire, by impious cunning, to men.<\/p>\n

When fire was stolen from heaven<\/p>\n

its home, wasting disease and a strange crowd<\/p>\n

of fevers covered the whole earth,<\/p>\n

and death\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s powers, that had been slow before<\/p>\n

and far away, quickened their step.<\/p>\n

Daedalus tried the empty air on wings<\/p>\n

that were never granted to men:<\/p>\n

Hercules\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 labours shattered Acheron.<\/p>\n

Nothing\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s too high for mortal men:<\/p>\n

like fools, we aim at the heavens themselves,<\/p>\n

sinful, we won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t let Jupiter<\/p>\n

set aside his lightning bolts of anger.<\/p>\n

BkI:IV Spring<\/p>\n

Fierce winter slackens its grip: it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s spring and the west wind\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sweet change:<\/p>\n

the ropes are hauling dry hulls towards the shore,<\/p>\n

The flock no longer enjoys the fold, or the ploughman the fire,<\/p>\n

no more are the meadows white with hoary frost.<\/p>\n

Now Cytherean Venus leads out her dancers, under the pendant moon,<\/p>\n

and the lovely Graces have joined with the Nymphs,<\/p>\n

treading the earth on tripping feet, while Vulcan, all on fire, visits<\/p>\n

the tremendous Cyclopean forges.<\/p>\n

Now its right to garland our gleaming heads, with green myrtle or flowers,<\/p>\n

whatever the unfrozen earth now bears:<\/p>\n

now it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s right to sacrifice to Faunus, in groves that are filled with shadow,<\/p>\n

whether he asks a lamb, or prefers a kid.<\/p>\n

Pale death knocks with impartial foot, at the door of the poor man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s cottage,<\/p>\n

and at the prince\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s gate. O Sestus, my friend,<\/p>\n

the span of brief life prevents us from ever depending on distant hope.<\/p>\n

Soon the night will crush you, the fabled spirits,<\/p>\n

and Pluto\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s bodiless halls: where once you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve passed inside you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll no longer<\/p>\n

be allotted the lordship of wine by dice,<\/p>\n

or marvel at Lycidas, so tender, for whom, already, the boys<\/p>\n

are burning, and soon the girls will grow hotter.<\/p>\n

BkI:V Treacherous Girl<\/p>\n

What slender boy, Pyrrha, drowned in liquid perfume,<\/p>\n

urges you on, there, among showers of roses,<\/p>\n

deep down in some pleasant cave?<\/p>\n

For whom did you tie up your hair,<\/p>\n

with simple elegance? How often he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll cry at<\/p>\n

the changes of faith and of gods, ah, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll wonder,<\/p>\n

surprised by roughening water,<\/p>\n

surprised by the darkening storms,<\/p>\n

who enjoys you now and believes you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re golden,<\/p>\n

who thinks you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll always be single and lovely,<\/p>\n

ignoring the treacherous<\/p>\n

breeze. Wretched are those you dazzle<\/p>\n

while still untried. As for me the votive tablet<\/p>\n

that hangs on the temple wall reveals, suspended,<\/p>\n

my dripping clothes, for the god,<\/p>\n

who holds power over the sea.<\/p>\n

BkI:VI A Tribute to Agrippa<\/p>\n

You should be penned as brave, and a conqueror<\/p>\n

by Varius, winged with his Homeric poetry,<\/p>\n

whatever fierce soldiers, with vessels or horses,<\/p>\n

have carried out, at your command.<\/p>\n

Agrippa, I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t try to speak of such things,<\/p>\n

not Achilles\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 anger, ever unyielding,<\/p>\n

nor crafty Ulysses\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 long sea-wanderings,<\/p>\n

nor the cruel house of Pelops,<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m too slight for grandeur, since shame and the Muse,<\/p>\n

who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the power of the peaceful lyre, forbids me<\/p>\n

to lessen the praise of great Caesar and you,<\/p>\n

by my defective artistry.<\/p>\n

Who could write worthily of Mars in his armour<\/p>\n

Meriones the Cretan, dark with Troy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s dust,<\/p>\n

or Tydides, who with the help of Athene,<\/p>\n

was the equal of all the gods?<\/p>\n

I sing of banquets, of girls fierce in battle<\/p>\n

with closely-trimmed nails, attacking young men:<\/p>\n

idly, as I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m accustomed to do, whether<\/p>\n

fancy free or burning with love.<\/p>\n

BkI:VII Tibur (the modern Tivoli)<\/p>\n

Let others sing in praise of Rhodes, or Mytilene,<\/p>\n

or Ephesus, or Corinth on the Isthmus,<\/p>\n

or Thebes that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s known for Bacchus, or Apollo\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s isle<\/p>\n

of Delphi, or Thessalian Tempe.<\/p>\n

There\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s some whose only purpose is to celebrate<\/p>\n

virgin Athene\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s city forever,<\/p>\n

and set indiscriminately gathered olive on their heads.<\/p>\n

Many a poet in honour of Juno<\/p>\n

will speak fittingly of horses, Argos, rich Mycenae.<\/p>\n

As for me not even stubborn Sparta<\/p>\n

or the fields of lush Larisa are quite as striking,<\/p>\n

as Albunea\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s echoing cavern,<\/p>\n

her headlong Anio, and the groves of Tiburnus,<\/p>\n

and Tibur\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s orchards, white with flowing streams.<\/p>\n

Bright Notus from the south often blows away the clouds<\/p>\n

from dark skies, without bringing endless rain,<\/p>\n

so Plancus, my friend, remember to end a sad life<\/p>\n

and your troubles, wisely, with sweet wine,<\/p>\n

whether it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the camp, and gleaming standards, that hold you<\/p>\n

or the deep shadows of your own Tibur.<\/p>\n

They say that Teucer, fleeing from Salamis and his<\/p>\n

father, still wreathed the garlands, leaves of poplar,<\/p>\n

round his forehead, flushed with wine, and in speech to his friends<\/p>\n

said these words to them as they sorrowed:<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u02dcWherever fortune carries us, kinder than my father,<\/p>\n

there, O friends and comrades, we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll adventure!<\/p>\n

Never despair, if Teucer leads, of Teucer\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s omens!<\/p>\n

Unerring Apollo surely promised,<\/p>\n

in the uncertain future, a second Salamis<\/p>\n

on a fresh soil. O you brave heroes, you<\/p>\n

who suffered worse with me often, drown your cares with wine:<\/p>\n

tomorrow we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll sail the wide seas again.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122<\/p>\n

BkI:VIII : To Lydia: Stop Ruining Sybaris!<\/p>\n

Lydia, by all the gods,<\/p>\n

say why you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re set on ruining poor Sybaris, with passion:<\/p>\n

why he suddenly can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t stand<\/p>\n

the sunny Campus, he, once tolerant of the dust and sun:<\/p>\n

why he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s no longer riding<\/p>\n

with his soldier friends, nor holds back the Gallic mouth, any longer,<\/p>\n

with his sharp restraining bit.<\/p>\n

Why does he fear to touch the yellow Tiber? Why does he keep<\/p>\n

away from the wrestler\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s oil<\/p>\n

like the viper\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s blood: he won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t appear with arms bruised by weapons,<\/p>\n

he who was often noted<\/p>\n

for hurling the discus, throwing the javelin out of bounds?<\/p>\n

Why does he hide, as they say<\/p>\n

Achilles, sea-born Thetis\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 son, hid, before sad Troy was ruined,<\/p>\n

lest his male clothing<\/p>\n

had him dragged away to the slaughter, among the Lycian troops?<\/p>\n

BkI:IX Winter<\/p>\n

See how Soracte stands glistening with snowfall,<\/p>\n

and the labouring woods bend under the weight:<\/p>\n

see how the mountain streams are frozen,<\/p>\n

cased in the ice by the shuddering cold?<\/p>\n

Drive away bitterness, and pile on the logs,<\/p>\n

bury the hearthstones, and, with generous heart,<\/p>\n

out of the four-year old Sabine jars,<\/p>\n

O Thaliarchus, bring on the true wine.<\/p>\n

Leave the rest to the gods: when they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve stilled the winds<\/p>\n

that struggle, far away, over raging seas,<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll see that neither the cypress trees<\/p>\n

nor the old ash will be able to stir.<\/p>\n

Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t ask what tomorrow brings, call them your gain<\/p>\n

whatever days Fortune gives, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t spurn sweet love,<\/p>\n

my child, and don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you be neglectful<\/p>\n

of the choir of love, or the dancing feet,<\/p>\n

while life is still green, and your white-haired old age<\/p>\n

is far away with all its moroseness. Now,<\/p>\n

find the Campus again, and the squares,<\/p>\n

soft whispers at night, at the hour agreed,<\/p>\n

and the pleasing laugh that betrays her, the girl<\/p>\n

who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s hiding away in the darkest corner,<\/p>\n

and the pledge that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s retrieved from her arm,<\/p>\n

or from a lightly resisting finger.<\/p>\n

BkI:X To Mercury<\/p>\n

Mercury, eloquent grandson of Atlas,<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll sing of you, who wise with your training, shaped<\/p>\n

the uncivilised ways of our new-born race,<\/p>\n

with language, and grace<\/p>\n

in the ways of wrestling, you the messenger<\/p>\n

of Jove and the gods, and the curved lyre\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s father,<\/p>\n

skilful in hiding whatever pleases you,<\/p>\n

with playful deceit.<\/p>\n

While he tried to scare you, with his threatening voice,<\/p>\n

unless you returned the cattle you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d stolen,<\/p>\n

and so craftily, Apollo was laughing<\/p>\n

missing his quiver.<\/p>\n

And indeed, with your guidance, Priam carrying<\/p>\n

rich gifts left Troy, escaped the proud Atridae,<\/p>\n

Thessalian fires, and the menacing camp<\/p>\n

threatening Ilium.<\/p>\n

You bring virtuous souls to the happy shores,<\/p>\n

controlling the bodiless crowds with your wand<\/p>\n

of gold, pleasing to the gods of the heavens<\/p>\n

and the gods below.<\/p>\n

BkI:XI Carpe Diem<\/p>\n

Leucono\u00c3\u00ab , don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t ask, we never know, what fate the gods grant us,<\/p>\n

whether your fate or mine, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t waste your time on Babylonian,<\/p>\n

futile, calculations. How much better to suffer what happens,<\/p>\n

whether Jupiter gives us more winters or this is the last one,<\/p>\n

one debilitating the Tyrrhenian Sea on opposing cliffs.<\/p>\n

Be wise, and mix the wine, since time is short: limit that far-reaching hope.<\/p>\n

The envious moment is flying now, now, while we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re speaking:<\/p>\n

Seize the day, place in the hours that come as little faith as you can.<\/p>\n

BkI:XII Praising Augustus<\/p>\n

What god, man, or hero do you choose to praise<\/p>\n

on the high pitched flute or the lyre, Clio?<\/p>\n

Whose name will it be that joyfully resounds<\/p>\n

in playful echoes,<\/p>\n

either on shadowed slopes of Mount Helicon,<\/p>\n

or on Pindus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s crest, or on cool Haemus,<\/p>\n

where the trees followed thoughtlessly after<\/p>\n

Orpheus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s call,<\/p>\n

that held back the swift-running streams and the rush<\/p>\n

of the breeze, by his mother the Muse\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s art,<\/p>\n

and seductively drew the listening oaks<\/p>\n

with enchaining song?<\/p>\n

Which shall I sing first of the praises reserved<\/p>\n

for the Father, who commands mortals and gods,<\/p>\n

who controls the seas, and the land, and the world\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s<\/p>\n

various seasons?<\/p>\n

From whom nothing\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s born that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s greater than he is,<\/p>\n

and there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s nothing that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s like him or near him,<\/p>\n

though Athene has honour approaching his,<\/p>\n

she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s bravest in war:<\/p>\n

I won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t be silent about you, O Bacchus,<\/p>\n

or you Diana, virgin inimical<\/p>\n

to wild creatures, or you Apollo, so feared<\/p>\n

for your sure arrows.<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll sing Hercules, too, and Leda\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s twin boys,<\/p>\n

one famed for winning with horses, the other<\/p>\n

in boxing. When their clear stars are shining bright<\/p>\n

for those on the sea,<\/p>\n

the storm-tossed water streams down from the headland,<\/p>\n

the high winds die down, and the clouds disappear,<\/p>\n

and, because they wish it, the menacing waves<\/p>\n

repose in the deep.<\/p>\n

I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know whether to speak next, after those,<\/p>\n

of Romulus, or of Numa\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s peaceful reign,<\/p>\n

of Tarquin\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s proud axes, or of that younger<\/p>\n

Cato\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s noble death.<\/p>\n

Gratefully, I speak in distinguished verses<\/p>\n

of Regulus: and the Scauri: and Paulus<\/p>\n

careless of his life, when Hannibal conquered:<\/p>\n

of Fabricius.<\/p>\n

Of him, and of Curius with uncut hair,<\/p>\n

and Camillus too, whom their harsh poverty<\/p>\n

and their ancestral gods, and their ancient farms,<\/p>\n

inured to struggle.<\/p>\n

Marcellus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 glory grows like a tree, quietly<\/p>\n

with time: the Julian constellation shines,<\/p>\n

among the other stars, as the Moon among<\/p>\n

the lesser fires.<\/p>\n

Father, and guardian of the human race,<\/p>\n

son of Saturn, the care of mighty Caesar<\/p>\n

was given you by fate: may you reign forever<\/p>\n

with Caesar below.<\/p>\n

Whether its the conquered Persians, menacing<\/p>\n

Latium , that he leads, in well-earned triumph,<\/p>\n

or the Seres and the Indians who lie<\/p>\n

beneath Eastern skies,<\/p>\n

under you, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll rule the wide earth with justice:<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll shake Olympus with your heavy chariot,<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll send your hostile lightning down to shatter<\/p>\n

once-pure sacred groves.<\/p>\n

BkI:XIII His Jealousy<\/p>\n

When you, Lydia, start to praise<\/p>\n

Telephus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 rosy neck, Telephus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 waxen arms,<\/p>\n

alas, my burning passion starts<\/p>\n

to mount deep inside me, with troubling anger.<\/p>\n

Neither my feelings, nor my hue<\/p>\n

stay as they were before, and on my cheek a tear<\/p>\n

slides down, secretly, proving how<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m consumed inwardly with lingering fires.<\/p>\n

I burn, whether it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s madhouse<\/p>\n

quarrels that have, drunkenly, marked your gleaming<\/p>\n

shoulders, or whether the crazed boy<\/p>\n

has placed a love-bite, in memory, on your lips.<\/p>\n

If you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d just listen to me now,<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d not bother to hope for constancy from him<\/p>\n

who wounds that sweet mouth, savagely,<\/p>\n

that Venus has imbued with her own pure nectar.<\/p>\n

Three times happy are they, and more,<\/p>\n

held by unbroken pledge, one which no destruction<\/p>\n

of love, by evil quarrels,<\/p>\n

will ever dissolve, before life\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s final day.<\/p>\n

BkI:XIV The Ship of State<\/p>\n

O ship the fresh tide carries back to sea again.<\/p>\n

Where are you going! Quickly, run for harbour.<\/p>\n

Can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you see how your sides<\/p>\n

have been stripped bare of oars,<\/p>\n

how your shattered masts and yards are groaning loudly<\/p>\n

in the swift south-westerly, and bare of rigging,<\/p>\n

your hull can scarce tolerate<\/p>\n

the overpowering waters?<\/p>\n

You haven\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t a single sail that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s still intact now,<\/p>\n

no gods, that people call to when they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re in trouble.<\/p>\n

Though you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re built of Pontic pine,<\/p>\n

a child of those famous forests,<\/p>\n

though you can boast of your race, and an idle name:<\/p>\n

the fearful sailor puts no faith in gaudy keels.<\/p>\n

You must beware of being<\/p>\n

merely a plaything of the winds.<\/p>\n

You, who not long ago were troubling weariness<\/p>\n

to me, and now are my passion and anxious care,<\/p>\n

avoid the glistening seas<\/p>\n

between the shining Cyclades.<\/p>\n

BkI:XV Nereus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Prophecy of Troy<\/p>\n

While Paris, the traitorous shepherd, her guest,<\/p>\n

bore Helen over the waves, in a ship from Troy,<\/p>\n

Nereus , the sea-god, checked the swift breeze<\/p>\n

with an unwelcome calm, to tell<\/p>\n

their harsh fate: \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcYou\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re taking a bird of ill-omen,<\/p>\n

back home, whom the Greeks, new armed, will look for again,<\/p>\n

having sworn to destroy the marriage your planning<\/p>\n

and the empire of old Priam.<\/p>\n

Ah, what sweated labour for men and for horses<\/p>\n

draws near! What disaster you bring for the Trojan<\/p>\n

people! Athene\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s already prepared her helm,<\/p>\n

breastplate, chariot, and fury.<\/p>\n

Uselessly daring, through Venus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 protection,<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll comb your hair and pluck at the peace-loving lyre,<\/p>\n

make the music for songs that please girls: uselessly<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll hide, in the depths of your room,<\/p>\n

from the heavy spears, from the arrows of Cretan<\/p>\n

reeds, and the noise of the battle, and swift-footed<\/p>\n

Ajax quick to follow: yet, ah too late, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll bathe<\/p>\n

your adulterous hair in the dust!<\/p>\n

Have you thought of Ulysses, the bane of your race,<\/p>\n

have you even considered Pylian Nestor?<\/p>\n

Teucer of Salamis presses you fearlessly,<\/p>\n

Sthenelus , skilful in warfare,<\/p>\n

and if it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a question of handling the horses<\/p>\n

he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s no mean charioteer. And Meriones<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll know him too. See fierce Tydides, his father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s<\/p>\n

braver, he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s raging to find you.<\/p>\n

As the deer sees the wolf there, over the valley,<\/p>\n

and forgets its pastures, a coward, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll flee him,<\/p>\n

breathing hard, as you run, with your head thrown high,<\/p>\n

not as you promised your mistress.<\/p>\n

The anger of Achilles\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 armies may delay<\/p>\n

the day of destruction for Troy and its women:<\/p>\n

but after so many winters the fires of Greece<\/p>\n

will burn the Dardanian houses.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122<\/p>\n

BkI:XVI He Repents<\/p>\n

O lovelier child of a lovely mother,<\/p>\n

end as you will, then, my guilty iambics<\/p>\n

whether in flames or whether instead<\/p>\n

deep down in the Adriatic\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s waters.<\/p>\n

Neither Cybele, nor Apollo, who troubles<\/p>\n

the priestess\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s mind in the Pythian shrine,<\/p>\n

nor Bacchus, nor the Corybants who<\/p>\n

clash their shrill, ringing cymbals together,<\/p>\n

pain us like anger, that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s undefeated by<\/p>\n

swords out of Noricum, or sea, the wrecker,<\/p>\n

or cruel fire, or mighty Jupiter<\/p>\n

when he sweeps down in terrible fury.<\/p>\n

They say when Prometheus was forced to add<\/p>\n

something from every creature to our first clay<\/p>\n

he chose to set in each of our hearts<\/p>\n

the violence of the irascible lion.<\/p>\n

Anger brought Thyestes down, to utter ruin,<\/p>\n

and it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the prime reason powerful cities<\/p>\n

vanished in their utter destruction,<\/p>\n

and armies, in scorn, sent the hostile plough<\/p>\n

over the levelled spoil of their shattered walls.<\/p>\n

Calm your mind: the passions of the heart have made<\/p>\n

their attempt on me, in my sweet youth,<\/p>\n

and drove me, maddened, as well, to swift verse:<\/p>\n

I wish to change the bitter lines to sweet, now,<\/p>\n

since I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve charmed away all of my hostile words,<\/p>\n

if you might become my friend, again,<\/p>\n

and if you, again, might give me your heart.<\/p>\n

BkI:XVII The Delights of the Country<\/p>\n

Swift Faunus, the god, will quite often exchange<\/p>\n

Arcady for my sweet Mount Lucretilis,<\/p>\n

and while he stays he protects my goats<\/p>\n

from the midday heat and the driving rain.<\/p>\n

The wandering wives of the rank he-goats search,<\/p>\n

with impunity, through the safe woodland groves,<\/p>\n

for the hidden arbutus, and thyme,<\/p>\n

and their kids don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t fear green poisonous snakes,<\/p>\n

or the wolf of Mars, my lovely Tyndaris,<\/p>\n

once my Mount Ustica\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s long sloping valleys,<\/p>\n

and its smooth worn rocks, have re-echoed<\/p>\n

to the music of sweet divine piping.<\/p>\n

The gods protect me: my love and devotion,<\/p>\n

and my Muse, are dear to the gods. Here the rich<\/p>\n

wealth of the countryside\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s beauties will<\/p>\n

flow for you, now, from the horn of plenty.<\/p>\n

Here you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll escape from the heat of the dog-star,<\/p>\n

in secluded valleys, sing of bright Circe,<\/p>\n

labouring over the Teian lyre,<\/p>\n

and of Penelope: both loved one man.<\/p>\n

Here you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll bring cups of innocent Lesbian<\/p>\n

wine, under the shade, nor will Semele\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s son,<\/p>\n

that Bacchus, battle it out with Mars,<\/p>\n

nor shall you fear the intemperate hands<\/p>\n

of insolent Cyrus, jealously watching,<\/p>\n

to possess you, girl, unequal to evil,<\/p>\n

to tear off the garland that clings to<\/p>\n

your hair, or tear off your innocent clothes.<\/p>\n

BkI:XVIII Wine<\/p>\n

Cultivate no plant, my Varus, before the rows of sacred vines,<\/p>\n

set in Tibur\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s gentle soil, and by the walls Catilus founded:<\/p>\n

because the god decreed all things are hard for those who never drink,<\/p>\n

and he gave us no better way to lessen our anxieties.<\/p>\n

Deep in wine, who rattles on, about harsh campaigns or poverty?<\/p>\n

Who doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t rather speak of you, Bacchus, and you, lovely Venus?<\/p>\n

And lest the gifts of Liber pass the bounds of moderation set,<\/p>\n

we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve the battle over wine, between the Lapiths and the Centaurs,<\/p>\n

as a warning to us all, and the frenzied Thracians, whom Bacchus<\/p>\n

hates, when they split right from wrong, by too fine a line of passion.<\/p>\n

Lovely Bacchus, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll not be the one to stir you, against your will,<\/p>\n

nor bring to open light of day what\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s hidden under all those leaves.<\/p>\n

Hold back the savagery of drums, and the Berecyntian horns,<\/p>\n

and those deeds that, afterwards, are followed by a blind self-love,<\/p>\n

by pride that lifts its empty head too high, above itself, once more,<\/p>\n

and wasted faith in mysteries much more transparent than the glass.<\/p>\n

BkI:XIX Glycera\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Beauty<\/p>\n

Cruel Venus, Cupid\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s mother,<\/p>\n

Bacchus, too, commands me, Theban Semele\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s son,<\/p>\n

and you, lustful Licentiousness,<\/p>\n

to recall to mind that love I thought long-finished.<\/p>\n

I burn for Glycera\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s beauty,<\/p>\n

who gleams much more brightly than Parian marble:<\/p>\n

I burn for her lovely boldness<\/p>\n

and her face too dangerous to ever behold.<\/p>\n

Venus bears down on me, wholly,<\/p>\n

deserting her Cyprus, not letting me sing of<\/p>\n

the Scythians, or Parthians<\/p>\n

eager at wheeling their horses, nor anything else.<\/p>\n

Here set up the green turf altar,<\/p>\n

boys, and the sacred boughs of vervain, and incense,<\/p>\n

place here a bowl of last year\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s wine:<\/p>\n

if a victim\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sacrificed, she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll come more gently.<\/p>\n

BkI:XX To Maecenas<\/p>\n

Come and drink with me, rough Sabine in cheap cups,<\/p>\n

yet wine that I sealed myself, and laid up<\/p>\n

in a Grecian jar, when you dear Maecenas,<\/p>\n

flower of knighthood,<\/p>\n

received the theatre\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s applause, so your native<\/p>\n

river-banks, and, also, the Vatican Hill,<\/p>\n

together returned that praise again, to you,<\/p>\n

in playful echoes.<\/p>\n

Then, drink Caecubum, and the juice of the grape<\/p>\n

crushed in Campania\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s presses, my cups are<\/p>\n

unmixed with what grows on Falernian vines,<\/p>\n

or Formian hills.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXI Hymn to Diana<\/p>\n

O tender virgins sing, in praise of Diana,<\/p>\n

and, you boys, sing in praise, of long-haired Apollo,<\/p>\n

and of Latona, deeply<\/p>\n

loved by all-conquering Jove.<\/p>\n

You girls, she who enjoys the streams and the green leaves<\/p>\n

of the groves that clothe the cool slopes of Algidus,<\/p>\n

or dark Erymanthian<\/p>\n

trees, or the woods of green Cragus.<\/p>\n

You boys, sounding as many praises, of Tempe<\/p>\n

and Apollo\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s native isle Delos, his shoulder<\/p>\n

distinguished by his quiver,<\/p>\n

and his brother Mercury\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s lyre.<\/p>\n

He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll drive away sad war, and miserable famine,<\/p>\n

the plague too, from our people and Caesar our prince,<\/p>\n

and, moved by all your prayers,<\/p>\n

send them to Persians and Britons.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXII Singing of Lalage (Integer Vitae)<\/p>\n

The man who is pure of life, and free of sin,<\/p>\n

has no need, dear Fuscus, for Moorish javelins,<\/p>\n

nor a bow and a quiver, fully loaded<\/p>\n

with poisoned arrows,<\/p>\n

whether his path\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s through the sweltering Syrtes,<\/p>\n

or through the inhospitable Caucasus,<\/p>\n

or makes its way through those fabulous regions<\/p>\n

Hydaspes waters.<\/p>\n

While I was wandering, beyond the boundaries<\/p>\n

of my farm, in the Sabine woods, and singing<\/p>\n

free from care, lightly-defended, of my Lalage,<\/p>\n

a wolf fled from me:<\/p>\n

a monster not even warlike Apulia<\/p>\n

nourishes deep in its far-flung oak forests,<\/p>\n

or that Juba\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s parched Numidian land breeds,<\/p>\n

nursery of lions.<\/p>\n

Set me down on the lifeless plains, where no trees<\/p>\n

spring to life in the burning midsummer wind,<\/p>\n

that wide stretch of the world that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s burdened by mists<\/p>\n

and a gloomy sky:<\/p>\n

set me down in a land denied habitation,<\/p>\n

where the sun\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s chariot rumbles too near the earth:<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll still be in love with my sweetly laughing,<\/p>\n

sweet talking Lalage.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXIII Chlo\u00c3\u00ab, Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t Run.<\/p>\n

You run away from me as a fawn does, Chlo\u00c3\u00ab,<\/p>\n

searching the trackless hills for its frightened mother,<\/p>\n

not without aimless terror<\/p>\n

of the pathless winds, and the woods.<\/p>\n

For if the coming of spring begins to rustle<\/p>\n

among the trembling leaves, or if a green lizard<\/p>\n

pushes the brambles aside,<\/p>\n

then it trembles in heart and limb.<\/p>\n

And yet I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not chasing after you to crush you<\/p>\n

like a fierce tiger, or a Gaetulian lion:<\/p>\n

stop following your mother,<\/p>\n

now, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re prepared for a mate.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXIV A Lament For Quintilius<\/p>\n

What limit, or restraint, should we show at the loss<\/p>\n

of so dear a life? Melpomene, teach me, Muse,<\/p>\n

a song of mourning, you, whom the Father granted<\/p>\n

a clear voice, the sound of the lyre.<\/p>\n

Does endless sleep lie heavy on Quintilius,<\/p>\n

now? When will Honour, and unswerving Loyalty,<\/p>\n

that is sister to Justice, and our naked Truth,<\/p>\n

ever discover his equal?<\/p>\n

Many are the good men who weep for his dying,<\/p>\n

none of them, Virgil, weep more profusely than you.<\/p>\n

Piously, you ask the gods for him, alas, in vain:<\/p>\n

not so was he given to us.<\/p>\n

Even if you played on the Thracian lyre, listened<\/p>\n

to by the trees, more sweetly than Orpheus could,<\/p>\n

would life then return, to that empty phantom,<\/p>\n

once Mercury, with fearsome wand,<\/p>\n

who won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t simply re-open the gates of Fate<\/p>\n

at our bidding, has gathered him to the dark throng?<\/p>\n

It is hard: but patience makes more tolerable<\/p>\n

whatever wrong\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s to be righted.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXV A Prophecy of Age<\/p>\n

Now the young men come less often, violently<\/p>\n

beating your shutters, with blow after blow, or<\/p>\n

stealing away your sleep, while the door sits tight,<\/p>\n

hugging the threshold,<\/p>\n

yet was once known to move its hinges, more than<\/p>\n

readily. You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll hear, less and less often now:<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u02dcAre you sleeping, Lydia, while your lover<\/p>\n

dies in the long night?\u00e2\u20ac\u2122<\/p>\n

Old, in your turn, you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll bemoan coarse adulterers,<\/p>\n

as you tremble in some deserted alley,<\/p>\n

while the Thracian wind rages, furiously,<\/p>\n

through the moonless nights,<\/p>\n

while flagrant desire, libidinous passion,<\/p>\n

those powers that will spur on a mare in heat,<\/p>\n

will storm all around your corrupted heart, ah,<\/p>\n

and you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll complain,<\/p>\n

that the youths, filled with laughter, take more delight<\/p>\n

in the green ivy, the dark of the myrtle,<\/p>\n

leaving the withering leaves to this East wind,<\/p>\n

winter\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s accomplice.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXVI A Garland For Lamia<\/p>\n

Friend of the Muses, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll throw sadness and fear<\/p>\n

to the winds, to blow over the Cretan Sea,<\/p>\n

untroubled by whoever he is, that king<\/p>\n

of the icy Arctic shores we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re afraid of,<\/p>\n

or whatever might terrify the Armenians.<\/p>\n

O Sweet Muse, that joys in fresh fountains,<\/p>\n

weave them together all the bright flowers,<\/p>\n

weave me a garland for my Lamia.<\/p>\n

Without you there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s no worth in my tributes:<\/p>\n

it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s fitting that you, that all of your sisters,<\/p>\n

should immortalise him with new strains<\/p>\n

of the lyre, with the Lesbian plectrum.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXVII Entanglement<\/p>\n

To fight with wine-cups intended for pleasure<\/p>\n

only suits Thracians: forget those barbarous<\/p>\n

games, and keep modest Bacchus away<\/p>\n

from all those bloodthirsty quarrels of yours.<\/p>\n

The Persian scimitar\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s quite out of keeping<\/p>\n

with the wine and the lamplight: my friends restrain<\/p>\n

all that impious clamour, and rest<\/p>\n

on the couches, lean back on your elbows.<\/p>\n

So you want me to drink up my share, as well,<\/p>\n

of the heavy Falernian? Then let\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s hear<\/p>\n

Opuntian Megylla\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s brother tell<\/p>\n

by what wound, and what arrow, blessed, he dies.<\/p>\n

Does your will waver? I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll drink on no other<\/p>\n

terms. Whatever the passion rules over you,<\/p>\n

it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not with a shameful fire it burns,<\/p>\n

and you always sin with the noblest<\/p>\n

of lovers. Whoever it is, ah, come now,<\/p>\n

let it be heard by faithful ears \u00e2\u20ac\u201c oh, you wretch!<\/p>\n

What a Charybdis you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re swimming in,<\/p>\n

my boy, you deserve a far better flame!<\/p>\n

What magician, with Thessalian potions,<\/p>\n

what enchantress, or what god could release you?<\/p>\n

Caught by the triple-formed Chimaera,<\/p>\n

even Pegasus could barely free you.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXVIII Three Handfuls of Earth<\/p>\n

You, my Archytas, philosopher, and measurer of land,<\/p>\n

of the sea, of wide sands, are entombed<\/p>\n

in a small mound of meagre earth near the Matinian shore,<\/p>\n

and it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s of no use to you in the least,<\/p>\n

that you, born to die, have explored the celestial houses<\/p>\n

crossed, in spirit, the rounds of the sky.<\/p>\n

Tantalus, Pelop\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s father, died too, a guest of the gods,<\/p>\n

and Tithonus took off to the heavens,<\/p>\n

Minos gained entry to great Jupiter\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s secrets, Tartarus<\/p>\n

holds Euphorbus, twice sent to Orcus,<\/p>\n

though he bore witness, carrying his shield there, to Trojan times,<\/p>\n

and left nothing more behind, for black Death,<\/p>\n

but his skin and his bones, and that certainly made him, Archytas,<\/p>\n

to your mind, no trivial example<\/p>\n

of Nature and truth. But there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s still one night that awaits us all,<\/p>\n

and each, in turn, makes the journey of death.<\/p>\n

The Furies deliver some as a spectacle for cruel Mars,<\/p>\n

the greedy sea\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the sailor\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s ruin:<\/p>\n

the funerals of the old, and the young, close ranks together,<\/p>\n

and no one\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s spared by cruel Proserpine.<\/p>\n

Me too, the south wind, Notus, swift friend of setting Orion,<\/p>\n

drowned deep in Illyrian waters.<\/p>\n

O, sailor, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t hesitate, from spite, to grant a little treacherous<\/p>\n

sand, to my unburied bones and skull.<\/p>\n

So that, however the east wind might threaten the Italian<\/p>\n

waves, thrashing the Venusian woods,<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll be safe, yourself, and rich rewards will flow from the source,<\/p>\n

from even-handed Jupiter, and from<\/p>\n

Neptune, who is the protector of holy Tarentum. Are you<\/p>\n

indifferent to committing a wrong<\/p>\n

that will harm your innocent children hereafter? Perhaps<\/p>\n

a need for justice, and arrogant<\/p>\n

disdain, await you, too: don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t let me be abandoned here<\/p>\n

my prayers unanswered: no offering<\/p>\n

will absolve you. Though you hurry away, it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a brief delay:<\/p>\n

three scattered handfuls of earth will free you.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXIX Off To The Wars<\/p>\n

Iccius, are you gazing with envy, now,<\/p>\n

at Arabian riches, and preparing<\/p>\n

for bitter war on unbeaten kings<\/p>\n

of Saba, weaving bonds for those dreadful<\/p>\n

Medes? What barbaric virgin<\/p>\n

will be your slave, when you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve murdered her lover?<\/p>\n

What boy, from the palace, with scented<\/p>\n

hair, will handle your wine-cups, one taught<\/p>\n

by his father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s bow how to manage eastern<\/p>\n

arrows? Who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll deny, now, that rivers can flow<\/p>\n

backwards, to the summits of mountains,<\/p>\n

and Tiber reverse the course of his streams,<\/p>\n

when you, who gave promise of much better things,<\/p>\n

are intent on changing Panaetius\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s<\/p>\n

noble books, the school of Socrates,<\/p>\n

for a suit of Iberian armour?<\/p>\n

BkI:XXX Ode To Venus<\/p>\n

O Venus, the queen of Cnidos and Paphos,<\/p>\n

spurn your beloved Cyprus, and summoned<\/p>\n

by copious incense, come to the lovely shrine<\/p>\n

of my Glycera.<\/p>\n

And let that passionate boy of yours, Cupid,<\/p>\n

and the Graces with loosened zones, and the Nymphs,<\/p>\n

and Youth, less lovely without you, hasten here,<\/p>\n

and Mercury too.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXXI A Prayer to Apollo<\/p>\n

What is the poet\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s request to Apollo?<\/p>\n

What does he pray for as he pours out the wine<\/p>\n

from the bowl? Not for the rich harvests<\/p>\n

of fertile Sardinia, nor the herds,<\/p>\n

(they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re delightful), of sunlit Calabria,<\/p>\n

not for India\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s gold or its ivory,<\/p>\n

nor fields our silent Liris\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s stream<\/p>\n

carries away in the calm of its flow.<\/p>\n

Let those that Fortune allows prune the vines,<\/p>\n

with a Calenian knife, so rich merchants<\/p>\n

can drink their wine from a golden cup,<\/p>\n

wine they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve purchased with Syrian goods,<\/p>\n

who, dear to the gods, three or four times yearly,<\/p>\n

revisit the briny Atlantic, unscathed.<\/p>\n

I browse on olives, and chicory<\/p>\n

and simple mallow. Apollo, the son<\/p>\n

of Latona, let me enjoy what I have,<\/p>\n

and, healthy in body and mind, as I ask,<\/p>\n

live an old age not without honour,<\/p>\n

and one not lacking the art of the lyre.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXXII To the Lyre<\/p>\n

I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m called on. O Lyre, if I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve ever played<\/p>\n

idle things with you in the shade, that will live,<\/p>\n

for a year or more, come and utter a song<\/p>\n

now, of Italy:<\/p>\n

you were first tuned by Alcaeus of Lesbos,<\/p>\n

a man daring in war, yet still, amongst arms,<\/p>\n

or after he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d moored his storm-driven boat<\/p>\n

on a watery shore,<\/p>\n

he sang of the Muses, Bacchus, and Venus<\/p>\n

that boy of hers, Cupid, that hangs around her,<\/p>\n

and that beautiful Lycus, with his dark eyes<\/p>\n

and lovely dark hair.<\/p>\n

O tortoiseshell, Phoebus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s glory, welcome<\/p>\n

at the feasts of Jupiter, the almighty,<\/p>\n

O sweet comfort and balm of our troubles, heal,<\/p>\n

if I call you true!<\/p>\n

BkI:XXXIII Tibullus, Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t Grieve<\/p>\n

Tibullus, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t grieve too much, when you remember<\/p>\n

your cruel Glycera, and don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t keep on singing<\/p>\n

those wretched elegies, or ask why, trust broken,<\/p>\n

you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re outshone by a younger man.<\/p>\n

Lovely Lycoris, the narrow-browed one, is on fire<\/p>\n

with love for Cyrus, Cyrus leans towards bitter<\/p>\n

Pholo\u00c3\u00ab, but does in the wood are more likely<\/p>\n

to mate with Apulian wolves,<\/p>\n

than Pholo\u00c3\u00ab to sin with some low-down lover.<\/p>\n

So Venus has it, who delights in the cruel<\/p>\n

game of mating unsuitable bodies and minds,<\/p>\n

under her heavy yoke of bronze.<\/p>\n

I, myself, when a nobler passion was called for,<\/p>\n

was held in the charming bonds of Myrtale,<\/p>\n

that freed slave, more bitter than Hadria\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s waves<\/p>\n

that break in Calabria\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s bay.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXXIV Fortune\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Changes<\/p>\n

Once I wandered, an expert in crazy wisdom,<\/p>\n

a scant and infrequent adorer of gods,<\/p>\n

now I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m forced to set sail and return,<\/p>\n

to go back to the paths I abandoned.<\/p>\n

For Jupiter, Father of all of the gods,<\/p>\n

who generally splits the clouds with his lightning,<\/p>\n

flashing away, drove thundering horses,<\/p>\n

and his swift chariot, through the clear sky,<\/p>\n

till the dull earth, and the wandering rivers,<\/p>\n

and Styx, and dread Taenarus\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 hateful headland,<\/p>\n

and Atlas\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s mountain-summits shook.<\/p>\n

The god has the power to replace the highest<\/p>\n

with the lowest, bring down the famous, and raise<\/p>\n

the obscure to the heights. And greedy Fortune<\/p>\n

with her shrill whirring, carries away<\/p>\n

the crown and delights in setting it, there.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXXV To Fortune<\/p>\n

O goddess, who rules our lovely Antium,<\/p>\n

always ready to lift up our mortal selves,<\/p>\n

from humble position, or alter<\/p>\n

proud triumphs to funeral processions,<\/p>\n

the poor farmer, in the fields, courts your favour<\/p>\n

with anxious prayers: you, mistress of ocean,<\/p>\n

the sailor who cuts the Carpathian<\/p>\n

Sea, in a Bithynian sailing boat:<\/p>\n

you, the fierce Dacian, wandering Scythian,<\/p>\n

cities, and peoples, and warlike Latium,<\/p>\n

mothers of barbarous kings, tyrants,<\/p>\n

clothed in their royal purple, all fear you,<\/p>\n

in case you demolish the standing pillar<\/p>\n

with a careless foot, or the tumultuous crowd<\/p>\n

incite the peaceful: \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcTo arms, to arms\u00e2\u20ac\u2122,<\/p>\n

and shatter the supreme authority.<\/p>\n

Grim Necessity always treads before you,<\/p>\n

and she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s carrying the spikes and the wedges<\/p>\n

in her bronze hand, and the harsh irons<\/p>\n

and the molten lead aren\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t absent either.<\/p>\n

Hope cultivates you, and rarest Loyalty,<\/p>\n

her hands bound in sacred white, will not refuse<\/p>\n

her friendship when you, their enemy,<\/p>\n

desert the great houses plunged in mourning.<\/p>\n

But the disloyal mob, and the perjured whores<\/p>\n

vanish, and friends scatter when they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve drunk our wine<\/p>\n

to the lees, unequal to bearing<\/p>\n

the heavy yoke of all our misfortunes.<\/p>\n

Guard our Caesar who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s soon setting off again<\/p>\n

against the earth\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s far-off Britons, and guard<\/p>\n

the fresh young levies, who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll scare the East<\/p>\n

in those regions along the Red Sea\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s shores.<\/p>\n

Alas, the shame of our scars and wickedness,<\/p>\n

and our dead brothers. What has our harsh age spared?<\/p>\n

What sinfulness have we left untried?<\/p>\n

What have the young men held their hands back from,<\/p>\n

in fear of the gods? Where are the altars they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve left<\/p>\n

alone? O may you remake our blunt weapons<\/p>\n

on fresh anvils so we can turn them<\/p>\n

against the Scythians and the Arabs.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXXVI Numida\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Back Again<\/p>\n

With music, and incense, and blood<\/p>\n

of a bullock, delight in placating the gods<\/p>\n

that guarded our Numida well,<\/p>\n

who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s returned safe and sound, from the farthest West, now,<\/p>\n

showering a host of kisses<\/p>\n

on every dear friend, but on none of us more than<\/p>\n

lovely Lamia, remembering<\/p>\n

their boyhood spent under the self-same master,<\/p>\n

their togas exchanged together.<\/p>\n

Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t allow this sweet day to lack a white marker,<\/p>\n

no end to the wine jars at hand,<\/p>\n

no rest for our feet in the Salian fashion,<\/p>\n

Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t let wine-heavy Damalis<\/p>\n

conquer our Bassus in downing the Thracian draughts.<\/p>\n

Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t let our feast lack for roses,<\/p>\n

or the long-lasting parsley, or the brief lilies:<\/p>\n

we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll all cast our decadent eyes<\/p>\n

on Damalis, but Damalis won\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t be parted<\/p>\n

from that new lover of hers she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s<\/p>\n

clasping, more tightly than the wandering ivy.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXXVII Cleopatra<\/p>\n

Now\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the time for drinking deep, and now\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the time<\/p>\n

to beat the earth with unfettered feet, the time<\/p>\n

to set out the gods\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 sacred couches,<\/p>\n

my friends, and prepare a Salian feast.<\/p>\n

It would have been wrong, before today, to broach<\/p>\n

the Caecuban wines from out the ancient bins,<\/p>\n

while a maddened queen was still plotting<\/p>\n

the Capitol\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s and the empire\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s ruin,<\/p>\n

with her crowd of deeply-corrupted creatures<\/p>\n

sick with turpitude, she, violent with hope<\/p>\n

of all kinds, and intoxicated<\/p>\n

by Fortune\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s favour. But it calmed her frenzy<\/p>\n

that scarcely a single ship escaped the flames,<\/p>\n

and Caesar reduced the distracted thoughts, bred<\/p>\n

by Mareotic wine, to true fear,<\/p>\n

pursuing her close as she fled from Rome,<\/p>\n

out to capture that deadly monster, bind her,<\/p>\n

as the sparrow-hawk follows the gentle dove<\/p>\n

or the swift hunter chases the hare,<\/p>\n

over the snowy plains of Thessaly.<\/p>\n

But she, intending to perish more nobly,<\/p>\n

showed no sign of womanish fear at the sword,<\/p>\n

nor did she even attempt to win<\/p>\n

with her speedy ships to some hidden shore.<\/p>\n

And she dared to gaze at her fallen kingdom<\/p>\n

with a calm face, and touch the poisonous asps<\/p>\n

with courage, so that she might drink down<\/p>\n

their dark venom, to the depths of her heart,<\/p>\n

growing fiercer still, and resolving to die:<\/p>\n

scorning to be taken by hostile galleys,<\/p>\n

and, no ordinary woman, yet queen<\/p>\n

no longer, be led along in proud triumph.<\/p>\n

BkI:XXXVIII The Simple Myrtle<\/p>\n

My child, how I hate Persian ostentation,<\/p>\n

garlands twined around lime-tree bark displease me:<\/p>\n

forget your chasing, to find all the places<\/p>\n

where late roses fade.<\/p>\n

You\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re eager, take care, that nothing enhances<\/p>\n

the simple myrtle: it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not only you that<\/p>\n

it graces, the servant, but me as I drink,<\/p>\n

beneath the dark vine.<\/p>\n

Index of First Lines<\/p>\n

Maecenas, descendant of royal ancestors,
\nThe Father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sent enough dread hail
\nMay the goddess, queen of Cyprus,
\nFierce winter slackens its grip: it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s spring and the west wind\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s sweet \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6
\nWhat slender boy, Pyrrha, drowned in liquid perfume,
\nYou should be penned as brave, and a conqueror
\nLet others sing in praise of Rhodes, or Mytilene,
\nLydia, by all the gods,
\nSee how Soracte stands glistening with snowfall,
\nMercury, eloquent grandson of Atlas,
\nLeucono\u00c3\u00ab, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t ask, we never know, what fate the gods grant us,
\nWhat god, man, or hero do you choose to praise
\nWhen you, Lydia, start to praise
\nO ship the fresh tide carries back to sea again.
\nWhile Paris, the traitorous shepherd, her guest,
\nO lovelier child of a lovely mother,
\nSwift Faunus, the god, will quite often exchange
\nCultivate no plant, my Varus, before the rows of sacred vines,
\nCruel Venus, Cupid\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s mother,
\nCome and drink with me, rough Sabine in cheap cups,
\nO tender virgins sing, in praise of Diana,
\nThe man who is pure of life, and free of sin,
\nYou run away from me as a fawn does, Chlo\u00c3\u00ab,
\nWhat limit, or restraint, should we show at the loss
\nNow the young men come less often, violently
\nFriend of the Muses, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll throw sadness and fear
\nTo fight with wine-cups intended for pleasure
\nYou, my Archytas, philosopher, and measurer of land,
\nof the sea, of wide sands, are entombed
\nIccius, are you gazing with envy, now,
\nO Venus, the queen of Cnidos and Paphos,
\nWhat is the poet\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s request to Apollo?
\nI\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m called on. O Lyre, if I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve ever played
\nTibullus, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t grieve too much, when you remember
\nOnce I wandered, an expert in crazy wisdom,
\nO goddess, who rules our lovely Antium,
\nNow\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the time for drinking deep, and now\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the time
\nMy child, how I hate Persian ostentation,
\nMetres Used in Book I.<\/p>\n

The number of syllables most commonly employed in each standard line of the verse is given. This may vary slightly for effect (two beats substituted for three etc.) in a given line.<\/p>\n

Alcaic Strophe: 11 (5+6) twice, 9, 10<\/p>\n

used in Odes: 9,16,17,26,27,29,31,34,35,37<\/p>\n

Sapphic and Adonic: 11(5+6) three times, 5<\/p>\n

Odes: 2,10,12,20,22,25,30,32,38<\/p>\n

First Asclepiadean: 12 (6+6) all lines<\/p>\n

Ode: 1<\/p>\n

Second Asclepiadean:8, 12 (6+6), alternating<\/p>\n

Odes: 3,13,19,36<\/p>\n

Third Asclepiadean: 12 (6+6) three times, 8<\/p>\n

Odes: 6,15,24,33<\/p>\n

Fourth Asclepiadean: 12 (6+6) twice, 7, 8<\/p>\n

Odes: 5,14,21,23<\/p>\n

Fifth Asclepiadean: 16 (6+4+6) all lines<\/p>\n

Ode: 11, 18<\/p>\n

Alcmanic Strophe: 17 (7+10) or less, 11 or less, alternating<\/p>\n

Odes: 7,28<\/p>\n

First Archilochian: 17 (7+10) or less, 7 alternating<\/p>\n

Odes: None in Book I<\/p>\n

Fourth Archilochian Strophe: 18 (7+11) or less, 11 (5+6) alternating<\/p>\n

Ode: 4<\/p>\n

Second Sapphic Strophe: 7, 15 (5+10) alternating<\/p>\n

Ode: 8<\/p>\n

Trochaic Strophe: 7,11 alternating<\/p>\n

Odes: None in Book I<\/p>\n

Ionic a Minore: 16 twice, 8<\/p>\n

Odes: None in Book I<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

http:\/\/www.poetryintranslation.com\/PITBR\/Latin\/HoraceOdesBkI.htm Horace: The Odes Book I Translated by A. S. Kline \u00c2\u00a9 Copyright 2003 All Rights Reserved This work may be freely reproduced, stored, and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Translator\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Note Horace fully exploited the metrical possibilities offered to him by Greek lyric verse. I have followed the original Latin metre […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-38805","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/38805","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=38805"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/38805\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/erickimphotography.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=38805"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}