|
Explorers, Scientists &
Inventors
Musicians, Painters &
Artists
Poets, Writers &
Philosophers
Native Americans & The Wild
West
First Ladies
Popes
Troublemakers
Historians
Archaeologists
Royal
Families
Tribes & Peoples
Assassinations in History
Who
got slain, almost slain, when, how,
why, and by whom?
Go to the
Assassination Archive
Online History Dictionary A - Z
Voyages in History
When did what
vessel arrive with whom onboard and where
did it sink if it didn't?
Go to the
Passage-Chart
The Divine Almanac
Who all roamed the heavens in
olden times? The Who's Who of
ancient gods.
Check out
the Divine Almanac
|
|
The Works of Horace
Page 1
|
|
THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
ODE I.
TO MAECENAS.
Maecenas, descended from royal ancestors, O both my protection and
my darling honor! There are those whom it delights to have collected
Olympic dust in the chariot race; and [whom] the goal nicely avoided
by the glowing wheels, and the noble palm, exalts, lords of the
earth, to the gods.
This man, if a crowd of the capricious Quirites strive to raise him
to the highest dignities; another, if he has stored up in his own
granary whatsoever is swept from the Libyan thrashing floors: him
who delights to cut with the hoe his patrimonial fields, you could
never tempt, for all the wealth of Attalus, [to become] a timorous
sailor and cross the Myrtoan sea in a Cyprian bark. The merchant,
dreading the south-west wind contending with the Icarian waves,
commends tranquility and the rural retirement of his village; but
soon after, incapable of being taught to bear poverty, he refits his
shattered vessel. There is another, who despises not cups of old
Massic, taking a part from the entire day, one while stretched under
the green arbute, another at the placid head of some sacred stream.
The camp, and the sound of the trumpet mingled with that of the
clarion, and wars detested by mothers, rejoice many.
The huntsman, unmindful of his tender spouse, remains in the cold
air, whether a hart is held in view by his faithful hounds, or a
Marsian boar has broken the fine-wrought toils.
|
Ivy, the reward of learned brows, equals me with the gods above: the
cool grove, and the light dances of nymphs and satyrs, distinguish
me from the crowd; if neither Euterpe withholds her pipe, nor
Polyhymnia disdains to tune the Lesbian lyre. But, if you rank me
among the lyric poets, I shall tower to the stars with my exalted
head.
ODE II.
TO AUGUSTUS CAESAR
Enough of snow and dreadful hail has the Sire now sent upon the
earth, and having hurled [his thunderbolts] with his red right hand
against the sacred towers, he has terrified the city; he has
terrified the nations, lest the grievous age of Pyrrha, complaining
of prodigies till then unheard of, should return, when Proteus drove
all his [marine] herd to visit the lofty mountains; and the fishy
race were entangled in the elm top, which before was the frequented
seat of doves; and the timorous deer swam in the overwhelming flood.
We have seen the yellow Tiber, with his waves forced back with
violence from the Tuscan shore, proceed to demolish the monuments of
king [Numa], and the temples of Vesta; while he vaunts himself the
avenger of the too disconsolate Ilia, and the uxorious river,
leaving his channel, overflows his left bank, notwithstanding the
disapprobation of Jupiter.
Our youth, less numerous by the vices of their fathers, shall hear
of the citizens having whetted that sword [against themselves], with
which it had been better that the formidable Persians had fallen;
they shall hear of [actual] engagements. Whom of the gods shall the
people invoke to the affairs of the sinking empire? With what prayer
shall the sacred virgins importune Vesta, who is now inattentive to
their hymns? To whom shall Jupiter assign the task of expiating our
wickedness? Do thou at length, prophetic Apollo, (we pray thee!)
come, vailing thy radiant shoulders with a cloud: or thou, if it be
more agreeable to thee, smiling Venus, about whom hover the gods of
mirth and love: or thou, if thou regard thy neglected race and
descendants, our founder Mars, whom clamor and polished helmets, and
the terrible aspect of the Moorish infantry against their bloody
enemy, delight, satiated at length with thy sport, alas! of too long
continuance: or if thou, the winged son of gentle Maia, by changing
thy figure, personate a youth upon earth, submitting to be called
the avenger of Caesar; late mayest thou return to the skies, and
long mayest thou joyously be present to the Roman people; nor may an
untimely blast transport thee from us, offended at our crimes. Here
mayest thou rather delight in magnificent triumphs, and to be called
father and prince: nor suffer the Parthians with impunity to make
incursions, you, O Caesar, being our general.
ODE III.
TO THE SHIP, IN WHICH VIRGIL WAS ABOUT TO SAIL TO ATHENS.
So may the goddess who rules over Cyprus; so may the bright stars,
the brothers of Helen; and so may the father of the winds, confining
all except Iapyx, direct thee, O ship, who art intrusted with
Virgil; my prayer is, that thou mayest land him safe on the Athenian
shore, and preserve the half of my soul. Surely oak and three-fold
brass surrounded his heart who first trusted a frail vessel to the
merciless ocean, nor was afraid of the impetuous Africus contending
with the northern storms, nor of the mournful Hyades, nor of the
rage of Notus, than whom there is not a more absolute controller of
the Adriatic, either to raise or assuage its waves at pleasure. What
path of death did he fear, who beheld unmoved the rolling monsters
of the deep; who beheld unmoved the tempestuous swelling of the sea,
and the Acroceraunians—ill-famed rocks?
In vain has God in his wisdom divided the countries of the earth by
the separating ocean, if nevertheless profane ships bound over
waters not to be violated. The race of man presumptuous enough to
endure everything, rushes on through forbidden wickedness.
The presumptuous son of Iapetus, by an impious fraud, brought down
fire into the world. After fire was stolen from the celestial
mansions, consumption and a new train of fevers settled upon the
earth, and the slow approaching necessity of death, which, till now,
was remote, accelerated its pace. Daedalus essayed the empty air
with wings not permitted to man. The labor of Hercules broke through
Acheron. There is nothing too arduous for mortals to attempt. We aim
at heaven itself in our folly; neither do we suffer, by our
wickedness, Jupiter to lay aside his revengeful thunderbolts.
ODE IV.
TO SEXTIUS.
Severe winter is melted away beneath the agreeable change of spring
and the western breeze; and engines haul down the dry ships. And
neither does the cattle any longer delight in the stalls, nor the
ploughman in the fireside; nor are the meadows whitened by hoary
frosts. Now Cytherean Venus leads off the dance by moonlight; and
the comely Graces, in conjunction with the Nymphs, shake the ground
with alternate feet; while glowing Vulcan kindles the laborious
forges of the Cyclops. Now it is fitting to encircle the shining
head either with verdant myrtle, or with such flowers as the relaxed
earth produces. Now likewise it is fitting to sacrifice to Faunus in
the shady groves, whether he demand a lamb, or be more pleased with
a kid. Pale death knocks at the cottages of the poor, and the
palaces of kings, with an impartial foot. O happy Sextius! The short
sum total of life forbids us to form remote expectations. Presently
shall darkness, and the unreal ghosts, and the shadowy mansion of
Pluto oppress you; where, when you shall have once arrived, you
shall neither decide the dominion of the bottle by dice, nor shall
you admire the tender Lycidas, with whom now all the youth is
inflamed, and for whom ere long the maidens will grow warm.
ODE V.
TO PYRRHA.
What dainty youth, bedewed with liquid perfumes, caresses you,
Pyrrha, beneath the pleasant grot, amid a profusion of roses? For
whom do you bind your golden hair, plain in your neatness? Alas! how
often shall he deplore your perfidy, and the altered gods; and
through inexperience be amazed at the seas, rough with blackening
storms who now credulous enjoys you all precious, and, ignorant of
the faithless gale, hopes you will be always disengaged, always
amiable! Wretched are those, to whom thou untried seemest fair? The
sacred wall [of Neptune's temple] demonstrates, by a votive tablet,
that I have consecrated my dropping garments to the powerful god of
the sea.
ODE VI.
TO AGRIPPA.
You shall be described by Varius, a bird of Maeonian verse, as
brave, and a subduer of your enemies, whatever achievements your
fierce soldiery shall have accomplished, under your command; either
on ship-board or on horseback. We humble writers, O Agrippa, neither
undertake these high subjects, nor the destructive wrath of
inexorable Achilles, nor the voyages of the crafty Ulysses, nor the
cruel house of Pelops: while diffidence, and the Muse who presides
over the peaceful lyre, forbid me to diminish the praise of
illustrious Caesar, and yours, through defect of genius. Who with
sufficient dignity will describe Mars covered with adamantine coat
of mail, or Meriones swarthy with Trojan dust, or the son of Tydeus
by the favor of Pallas a match for the gods? We, whether free, or
ourselves enamored of aught, light as our wont, sing of banquets;
we, of the battles of maids desperate against young fellows—with
pared nails.
ODE VII.
TO MUNATIUS PLANCUS.
Other poets shall celebrate the famous Rhodes, or Mitylene, or
Ephesus, or the walls of Corinth, situated between two seas, or
Thebes, illustrious by Bacchus, or Delphi by Apollo, or the
Thessalian Tempe. There are some, whose one task it is to chant in
endless verse the city of spotless Pallas, and to prefer the olive
culled from every side, to every other leaf. Many a one, in honor of
Juno, celebrates Argos, productive of steeds, and rich Mycenae.
Neither patient Lacedaemon so much struck me, nor so much did the
plain of fertile Larissa, as the house of resounding Albunea, and
the precipitately rapid Anio, and the Tiburnian groves, and the
orchards watered by ductile rivulets. As the clear south wind often
clears away the clouds from a lowering sky, now teems with perpetual
showers; so do you, O Plancus, wisely remember to put an end to
grief and the toils of life by mellow wine; whether the camp,
refulgent with banners, possess you, or the dense shade of your own
Tibur shall detain you. When Teucer fled from Salamis and his
father, he is reported, notwithstanding, to have bound his temples,
bathed in wine, with a poplar crown, thus accosting his anxious
friends: "O associates and companions, we will go wherever fortune,
more propitious than a father, shall carry us. Nothing is to be
despaired of under Teucer's conduct, and the auspices of Teucer: for
the infallible Apollo has promised, that a Salamis in a new land
shall render the name equivocal. O gallant heroes, and often my
fellow-sufferers in greater hardships than these, now drive away
your cares with wine: to-morrow we will re-visit the vast ocean."
ODE VIII.
TO LYDIA.
Lydia, I conjure thee by all the powers above, to tell me why you
are so intent to ruin Sybaris by inspiring him with love? Why hates
he the sunny plain, though inured to bear the dust and heat? Why
does he neither, in military accouterments, appear mounted among his
equals; nor manage the Gallic steed with bitted reins? Why fears he
to touch the yellow Tiber? Why shuns he the oil of the ring more
cautiously than viper's blood? Why neither does he, who has often
acquired reputation by the quoit, often by the javelin having
cleared the mark, any longer appear with arms all black-and-blue by
martial exercises? Why is he concealed, as they say the son of the
sea-goddess Thetis was, just before the mournful funerals of Troy;
lest a manly habit should hurry him to slaughter, and the Lycian
troops?
ODE IX.
TO THALIARCHUS.
You see how Soracte stands white with deep snow, nor can the
laboring woods any longer support the weight, and the rivers
stagnate with the sharpness of the frost. Dissolve the cold,
liberally piling up billets on the hearth; and bring out, O
Thaliarchus, the more generous wine, four years old, from the Sabine
jar. Leave the rest to the gods, who having once laid the winds
warring with the fervid ocean, neither the cypresses nor the aged
ashes are moved. Avoid inquiring what may happen tomorrow; and
whatever day fortune shall bestow on you, score it up for gain; nor
disdain, being a young fellow, pleasant loves, nor dances, as long
as ill-natured hoariness keeps off from your blooming age. Now let
both the Campus Martius and the public walks, and soft whispers at
the approach of evening be repeated at the appointed hour: now, too,
the delightful laugh, the betrayer of the lurking damsel from some
secret corner, and the token ravished from her arms or fingers,
pretendingly tenacious of it.
ODE X.
TO MERCURY.
Mercury, eloquent grandson of Atlas, thou who artful didst from the
savage manners of the early race of men by oratory, and the
institution of the graceful Palaestra: I will celebrate thee,
messenger of Jupiter and the other gods, and parent of the curved
lyre; ingenious to conceal whatever thou hast a mind to, in jocose
theft. While Apollo, with angry voice, threatened you, then but a
boy, unless you would restore the oxen, previously driven away by
your fraud, he laughed, [when he found himself] deprived of his
quiver [also]. Moreover, the wealthy Priam too, on his departure
from Ilium, under your guidance deceived the proud sons of Atreus,
and the Thessalian watch-lights, and the camp inveterate against
Troy. You settle the souls of good men in blissful regions, and
drive together the airy crowd with your golden rod, acceptable both
to the supernal and infernal gods.
ODE XI.
TO LEUCONOE.
Inquire not, Leuconoe (it is not fitting you should know), how long
a term of life the gods have granted to you or to me: neither
consult the Chaldean calculations. How much better is it to bear
with patience whatever shall happen! Whether Jupiter have granted us
more winters, or [this as] the last, which now breaks the Etrurian
waves against the opposing rocks. Be wise; rack off your wines, and
abridge your hopes [in proportion] to the shortness of your life.
While we are conversing, envious age has been flying; seize the
present day, not giving the least credit to the succeeding one.
ODE XII.
TO AUGUSTUS.
What man, what hero, O Clio, do you undertake to celebrate on the
harp, or the shrill pipe? What god? Whose name shall the sportive
echo resound, either in the shady borders of Helicon, or on the top
of Pindus, or on cold Haemus? Whence the woods followed
promiscuously the tuneful Orpheus, who by his maternal art retarded
the rapid courses of rivers, and the fleet winds; and was so sweetly
persuasive, that he drew along the listening oaks with his
harmonious strings. But what can I sing prior to the usual praises
of the Sire, who governs the affairs of men and gods; who [governs]
the sea, the earth, and the whole world with the vicissitudes of
seasons? Whence nothing is produced greater than him; nothing
springs either like him, or even in a second degree to him:
nevertheless, Pallas has acquired these honors, which are next after
him.
Neither will I pass thee by in silence, O Bacchus, bold in combat;
nor thee, O Virgin, who art an enemy to the savage beasts; nor thee,
O Phoebus, formidable for thy unerring dart.
I will sing also of Hercules, and the sons of Leda, the one
illustrious for his achievements on horseback, the other on foot;
whose clear-shining constellation as soon as it has shone forth to
the sailors, the troubled surge falls down from the rocks, the winds
cease, the clouds vanish, and the threatening waves subside in the
sea—because it was their will. After these, I am in doubt whom I
shall first commemorate, whether Romulus, or the peaceful reign of
Numa, or the splendid ensigns of Tarquinius, or the glorious death
of Cato. I will celebrate, out of gratitude, with the choicest
verses, Regulus, and the Scauri, and Paulus, prodigal of his mighty
soul, when Carthage conquered, and Fabricius.
Severe poverty, and an hereditary farm, with a dwelling suited to
it, formed this hero useful in war; as it did also Curius with his
rough locks, and Camillus. The fame of Marcellus increases, as a
tree does in the insensible progress of time. But the Julian
constellation shines amid them all, as the moon among the smaller
stars. O thou son of Saturn, author and preserver of the human race,
the protection of Caesar is committed to thy charge by the Fates:
thou shalt reign supreme, with Caesar for thy second. Whether he
shall subdue with a just victory the Parthians making inroads upon
Italy, or shall render subject the Seres and Indians on the Eastern
coasts; he shall rule the wide world with equity, in subordination
to thee. Thou shalt shake Olympus with thy tremendous car; thou
shalt hurl thy hostile thunderbolts against the polluted groves.
ODE XIII.
TO LYDIA.
O Lydia, when you commend Telephus' rosy neck, and the waxen arms of
Telephus, alas! my inflamed liver swells with bile difficult to be
repressed. Then neither is my mind firm, nor does my color maintain
a certain situation: and the involuntary tears glide down my cheek,
proving with what lingering flames I am inwardly consumed. I am on
fire, whether quarrels rendered immoderate by wine have stained your
fair shoulders; or whether the youth, in his fury, has impressed
with his teeth a memorial on your lips. If you will give due
attention to my advice, never expect that he will be constant, who
inhumanly wounds those sweet kisses, which Venus has imbued with the
fifth part of all her nectar. O thrice and more than thrice happy
those, whom an indissoluble connection binds together; and whose
love, undivided by impious complainings, does not separate them
sooner than the last day!
ODE XIV.
TO THE ROMAN STATE.
O ship, new waves will bear you back again to sea. O what are you
doing? Bravely seize the port. Do you not perceive, that your sides
are destitute of oars, and your mast wounded by the violent south
wind, and your main-yards groan, and your keel can scarcely support
the impetuosity of the waves without the help of cordage? You have
not entire sails; nor gods, whom you may again invoke, pressed with
distress: notwithstanding you are made of the pines of Pontus, and
as the daughter of an illustrious wood, boast your race, and a fame
now of no service to you. The timorous sailor has no dependence on a
painted stern. Look to yourself, unless you are destined to be the
sport of the winds. O thou, so lately my trouble and fatigue, but
now an object of tenderness and solicitude, mayest thou escape those
dangerous seas which flow among the shining Cyclades.
ODE XV.
TO PARIS.
When the perfidious shepherd (Paris) carried off by sea in Trojan
ships his hostess Helen, Nereus suppressed the swift winds in an
unpleasant calm, that he might sing the dire fates. "With unlucky
omen art thou conveying home her, whom Greece with a numerous army
shall demand back again, having entered into a confederacy to
dissolve your nuptials, and the ancient kingdom of Priam. Alas! what
sweat to horses, what to men, is just at hand! What a destruction
art thou preparing for the Trojan nation! Even now Pallas is fitting
her helmet, and her shield, and her chariot, and her fury. In vain,
looking fierce through the patronage of Venus, will you comb your
hair, and run divisions upon the effeminate lyre with songs pleasing
to women. In vain will you escape the spears that disturb the
nuptial bed, and the point of the Cretan dart, and the din [of
battle], and Ajax swift in the pursuit. Nevertheless, alas! the time
will come, though late, when thou shalt defile thine adulterous
hairs in the dust. Dost thou not see the son of Laertes, fatal to
thy nation, and Pylian Nestor, Salaminian Teucer, and Sthenelus
skilled in fight (or if there be occasion to manage horses, no tardy
charioteer), pursue thee with intrepidity? Meriones also shalt thou
experience. Behold! the gallant son of Tydeus, a better man than his
father, glows to find you out: him, as a stag flies a wolf, which he
has seen on the opposite side of the vale, unmindful of his pasture,
shall you, effeminate, fly, grievously panting:—not such the
promises you made your mistress. The fleet of the enraged Achilles
shall defer for a time that day, which is to be fatal to Troy and
the Trojan matrons: but, after a certain number of years, Grecian
fire shall consume the Trojan palaces."
ODE XVI.
TO A YOUNG LADY HORACE HAD OFFENDED.
O daughter, more charming than your charming mother, put what end
you please to my insulting iambics; either in the flames, or, if you
choose it, in the Adriatic. Nor Cybele, nor Apollo, the dweller in
the shrines, so shakes the breast of his priests; Bacchus does not
do it equally, nor do the Corybantes so redouble their strokes on
the sharp-sounding cymbals, as direful anger; which neither the
Noric sword can deter, nor the shipwrecking sea, nor dreadful fire,
not Jupiter himself rushing down with awful crash. It is reported
that Prometheus was obliged to add to that original clay [with which
he formed mankind], some ingredient taken from every animal, and
that he applied the vehemence of the raging lion to the human
breast. It was rage that destroyed Thyestes with horrible perdition;
and has been the final cause that lofty cities have been entirely
demolished, and that an insolent army has driven the hostile
plowshare over their walls. Compose your mind. An ardor of soul
attacked me also in blooming youth, and drove me in a rage to the
writing of swift-footed iambics. Now I am desirous of exchanging
severity for good nature, provided that you will become my friend,
after my having recanted my abuse, and restore me your affections.
ODE XVII.
TO TYNDARIS.
The nimble Faunus often exchanges the Lycaean mountain for the
pleasant Lucretilis, and always defends my she-goats from the
scorching summer, and the rainy winds. The wandering wives of the
unsavory husband seek the hidden strawberry-trees and thyme with
security through the safe grove: nor do the kids dread the green
lizards, or the wolves sacred to Mars; whenever, my Tyndaris, the
vales and the smooth rocks of the sloping Ustica have resounded with
his melodious pipe. The gods are my protectors. My piety and my muse
are agreeable to the gods. Here plenty, rich with rural honors,
shall flow to you, with her generous horn filled to the brim. Here,
in a sequestered vale, you shall avoid the heat of the dog-star;
and, on your Anacreontic harp, sing of Penelope and the frail Circe
striving for one lover; here you shall quaff, under the shade, cups
of unintoxicating Lesbian. Nor shall the raging son of Semele enter
the combat with Mars; and unsuspected you shall not fear the
insolent Cyrus, lest he should savagely lay his intemperate hands on
you, who are by no means a match for him; and should rend the
chaplet that is platted in your hair, and your inoffensive garment.
ODE XVIII.
TO VARUS.
O Varus, you can plant no tree preferable to the sacred vine, about
the mellow soil of Tibur, and the walls of Catilus. For God hath
rendered every thing cross to the sober; nor do biting cares
disperse any otherwise [than by the use of wine]. Who, after wine,
complains of the hardships of war or of poverty? Who does not rather
[celebrate] thee, Father Bacchus, and thee, comely Venus?
Nevertheless, the battle of the Centaurs with the Lapithae, which
was fought in their cups, admonishes us not to exceed a moderate use
of the gifts of Bacchus. And Bacchus himself admonishes us in his
severity to the Thracians; when greedy to satisfy their lusts, they
make little distinction between right and wrong. O beauteous
Bacchus, I will not rouse thee against thy will, nor will I hurry
abroad thy [mysteries, which are] covered with various leaves. Cease
your dire cymbals, together with your Phrygian horn, whose followers
are blind Self-love and Arrogance, holding up too high her empty
head, and the Faith communicative of secrets, and more transparent
than glass.
ODE XIX.
TO GLYCERA.
The cruel mother of the Cupids, and the son of the Theban Gemele,
and lascivious ease, command me to give back my mind to its deserted
loves. The splendor of Glycera, shining brighter than the Parian
marble, inflames me: her agreeable petulance, and her countenance,
too unsteady to be beheld, inflame me. Venus, rushing on me with her
whole force, has quitted Cyprus; and suffers me not to sing of the
Scythians, and the Parthian, furious when his horse is turned for
flight, or any subject which is not to the present purpose. Here,
slaves, place me a live turf; here, place me vervains and
frankincense, with a flagon of two-year-old wine. She will approach
more propitious, after a victim has been sacrificed.
ODE XX.
TO MAECENAS.
My dear knight Maecenas, you shall drink [at my house] ignoble
Sabine wine in sober cups, which I myself sealed up in the Grecian
cask, stored at the time, when so loud an applause was given to you
in the amphitheatre, that the banks of your ancestral river,
together with the cheerful echo of the Vatican mountain, returned
your praises. You [when you are at home] will drink the Caecuban,
and the grape which is squeezed in the Calenian press; but neither
the Falernian vines, nor the Formian hills, season my cups.
ODE XXI.
ON DIANA AND APOLLO.
Ye tender virgins, sing Diana; ye boys, sing Apollo with his unshorn
hair, and Latona passionately beloved by the supreme Jupiter. Ye
(virgins), praise her that rejoices in the rivers, and the thick
groves, which project either from the cold Algidus, or the gloomy
woods of Erymanthus, or the green Cragus. Ye boys, extol with equal
praises Apollo's Delos, and his shoulder adorned with a quiver, and
with his brother Mercury's lyre. He, moved by your intercession,
shall drive away calamitous war, and miserable famine, and the
plague from the Roman people and their sovereign Caesar, to the
Persians and the Britons.
ODE XXII.
TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.
The man of upright life and pure from wickedness, O Fuscus, has no
need of the Moorish javelins, or bow, or quiver loaded with poisoned
darts. Whether he is about to make his journey through the sultry
Syrtes, or the inhospitable Caucasus, or those places which Hydaspes,
celebrated in story, washes. For lately, as I was singing my Lalage,
and wandered beyond my usual bounds, devoid of care, a wolf in the
Sabine wood fled from me, though I was unarmed: such a monster as
neither the warlike Apulia nourishes in its extensive woods, nor the
land of Juba, the dry-nurse of lions, produces. Place me in those
barren plains, where no tree is refreshed by the genial air; at that
part of the world, which clouds and an inclement atmosphere infest.
Place me under the chariot of the too neighboring sun, in a land
deprived of habitations; [there] will I love my sweetly-smiling,
sweetly-speaking Lalage.
ODE XXIII.
TO CHLOE.
You shun me, Chloe, like a fawn that is seeking its timorous mother
in the pathless mountains, not without a vain dread of the breezes
and the thickets: for she trembles both in her heart and knees,
whether the arrival of the spring has terrified by its rustling
leaves, or the green lizards have stirred the bush. But I do not
follow you, like a savage tigress, or a Gaetulian lion, to tear you
to pieces. Therefore, quit your mother, now that you are mature for
a husband.
ODE XXIV.
TO VIRGIL.
What shame or bound can there be to our affectionate regret for so
dear a person? O Melpomene, on whom your father has bestowed a clear
voice and the harp, teach me the mournful strains. Does then
perpetual sleep oppress Quinctilius? To whom when will modesty, and
uncorrupt faith the sister of Justice, and undisguised truth, find
any equal? He died lamented by many good men, but more lamented by
none than by you, my Virgil. You, though pious, alas! in vain demand
Quinctilius back from the gods, who did not lend him to us on such
terms. What, though you could strike the lyre, listened to by the
trees, with more sweetness than the Thracian Orpheus; yet the blood
can never return to the empty shade, which Mercury, inexorable to
reverse the fates, has with his dreadful Caduceus once driven to the
gloomy throng. This is hard: but what it is out of our power to
amend, becomes more supportable by patience.
ODE XXV.
TO LYDIA.
The wanton youths less violently shake thy fastened windows with
their redoubled knocks, nor do they rob you of your rest; and your
door, which formerly moved its yielding hinges freely, now sticks
lovingly to its threshold. Less and less often do you now hear: "My
Lydia, dost thou sleep the live-long night, while I your lover am
dying?" Now you are an old woman, it will be your turn to bewail the
insolence of rakes, when you are neglected in a lonely alley, while
the Thracian wind rages at the Interlunium: when that hot desire and
lust, which is wont to render furious the dams of horses, shall rage
about your ulcerous liver: not without complaint, that sprightly
youth rejoice rather in the verdant ivy and growing myrtle, and
dedicate sapless leaves to Eurus, the companion of winter.
ODE XXVI.
TO AELIUS LAMIA.
A friend to the Muses, I will deliver up grief and fears to the
wanton winds, to waft into the Cretan Sea; singularly careless, what
king of a frozen region is dreaded under the pole, or what terrifies
Tiridates. O sweet muse, who art delighted with pure fountains,
weave together the sunny flowers, weave a chaplet for my Lamia.
Without thee, my praises profit nothing. To render him immortal by
new strains, to render him immortal by the Lesbian lyre, becomes
both thee and thy sisters.
ODE XXVII.
TO HIS COMPANIONS.
To quarrel over your cups, which were made for joy, is downright
Thracian. Away with the barbarous custom, and protect modest Bacchus
from bloody frays. How immensely disagreeable to wine and candles is
the sabre of the Medes! O my companions, repress your wicked
vociferations, and rest quietly on bended elbow. Would you have me
also take my share of stout Falernian? Let the brother of Opuntian
Megilla then declare, with what wound he is blessed, with what dart
he is dying.—What, do you refuse? I will not drink upon any other
condition. Whatever kind of passion rules you, it scorches you with
the flames you need not be ashamed of, and you always indulge in an
honorable, an ingenuous love. Come, whatever is your case, trust it
to faithful ears. Ah, unhappy! in what a Charybdis art thou
struggling, O youth, worthy of a better flame! What witch, what
magician, with his Thessalian incantations, what deity can free you?
Pegasus himself will scarcely deliver you, so entangled, from this
three-fold chimera.
ODE XXVIII.
ARCHYTAS.
The [want of the] scanty present of a little sand near the Mantinian
shore, confines thee, O Archytas, the surveyor of sea and earth, and
of the innumerable sand: neither is it of any advantage to you, to
have explored the celestial regions, and to have traversed the round
world in your imagination, since thou wast to die. Thus also did the
father of Pelops, the guest of the gods, die; and Tithonus likewise
was translated to the skies, and Minos, though admitted to the
secrets of Jupiter; and the Tartarean regions are possessed of the
son of Panthous, once more sent down to the receptacle of the dead;
notwithstanding, having retaken his shield from the temple, he gave
evidence of the Trojan times, and that he had resigned to gloomy
death nothing but his sinews and skin; in your opinion, no
inconsiderable judge of truth and nature. But the game night awaits
all, and the road of death must once be travelled. The Furies give
up some to the sport of horrible Mars: the greedy ocean is
destructive to sailors: the mingled funerals of young and old are
crowded together: not a single person does the cruel Proserpine pass
by. The south wind, the tempestuous attendant on the setting Orion,
has sunk me also in the Illyrian waves. But do not thou, O sailor,
malignantly grudge to give a portion of loose sand to my bones and
unburied head. So, whatever the east wind shall threaten to the
Italian sea, let the Venusinian woods suffer, while you are in
safety; and manifold profit, from whatever port it may, come to you
by favoring Jove, and Neptune, the defender of consecrated Tarentum.
But if you, by chance, make light of committing a crime, which will
be hurtful to your innocent posterity, may just laws and haughty
retribution await you. I will not be deserted with fruitless
prayers; and no expiations shall atone for you. Though you are in
haste, you need not tarry long: after having thrice sprinkled the
dust over me, you may proceed.
ODE XXIX.
TO ICCIUS.
O Iccius, you now covet the opulent treasures of the Arabians, and
are preparing vigorous for a war against the kings of Saba, hitherto
unconquered, and are forming chains for the formidable Mede. What
barbarian virgin shall be your slave, after you have killed her
betrothed husband? What boy from the court shall be made your
cup-bearer, with his perfumed locks, skilled to direct the Seric
arrows with his father's bow? Who will now deny that it is probable
for precipitate rivers to flow back again to the high mountains, and
for Tiber to change his course, since you are about to exchange the
noble works of Panaetius, collected from all parts, together with
the whole Socratic family, for Iberian armor, after you had promised
better things?
ODE XXX.
TO VENUS.
O Venus, queen of Gnidus and Paphos, neglect your favorite Cyprus,
and transport yourself into the beautiful temple of Glycera, who is
invoking you with abundance of frankincense. Let your glowing son
hasten along with you, and the Graces with their zones loosed, and
the Nymphs, and Youth possessed of little charm without you and
Mercury.
ODE XXXI.
TO APOLLO.
What does the poet beg from Phoebus on the dedication of his temple?
What does he pray for, while he pours from the flagon the first
libation? Not the rich crops of fertile Sardinia: not the goodly
flocks of scorched Calabria: not gold, or Indian ivory: not those
countries, which the still river Liris eats away with its silent
streams. Let those to whom fortune has given the Calenian vineyards,
prune them with a hooked knife; and let the wealthy merchant drink
out of golden cups the wines procured by his Syrian merchandize,
favored by the gods themselves, inasmuch as without loss he visits
three or four times a year the Atlantic Sea. Me olives support, me
succories and soft mallows. O thou son of Latona, grant me to enjoy
my acquisitions, and to possess my health, together with an
unimpaired understanding, I beseech thee; and that I may not lead a
dishonorable old age, nor one bereft of the lyre.
ODE XXXII.
TO HIS LYRE.
We are called upon. If ever, O lyre, in idle amusement in the shade
with thee, we have played anything that may live for this year and
many, come on, be responsive to a Latin ode, my dear lyre—first
tuned by a Lesbian citizen, who, fierce in war, yet amid arms, or if
he had made fast to the watery shore his tossed vessel, sung
Bacchus, and the Muses, and Venus, and the boy, her ever-close
attendant, and Lycus, lovely for his black eyes and jetty locks. O
thou ornament of Apollo, charming shell, agreeable even at the
banquets of supreme Jove! O thou sweet alleviator of anxious toils,
be propitious to me, whenever duly invoking thee!
ODE XXXIII.
TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS.
Grieve not too much, my Albius, thoughtful of cruel Glycera; nor
chant your mournful elegies, because, as her faith being broken, a
younger man is more agreeable, than you in her eyes. A love for
Cyrus inflames Lycoris, distinguished for her little forehead: Cyrus
follows the rough Pholoe; but she-goats shall sooner be united to
the Apulian wolves, than Pholoe shall commit a crime with a base
adulterer. Such is the will of Venus, who delights in cruel sport,
to subject to her brazen yokes persons and tempers ill suited to
each other. As for myself, the slave-born Myrtale, more untractable
than the Adriatic Sea that forms the Calabrian gulfs, entangled me
in a pleasing chain, at the very time that a more eligible love
courted my embraces.
ODE XXXIV.
AGAINST THE EPICURIANS.
A remiss and irregular worshiper of the gods, while I professed the
errors of a senseless philosophy, I am now obliged to set sail back
again, and to renew the course that I had deserted. For Jupiter, who
usually cleaves the clouds with his gleaming lightning, lately drove
his thundering horses and rapid chariot through the clear serene;
which the sluggish earth, and wandering rivers; at which Styx, and
the horrid seat of detested Taenarus, and the utmost boundary of
Atlas were shaken. The Deity is able to make exchange between the
highest and the lowest, and diminishes the exalted, bringing to
light the obscure; rapacious fortune, with a shrill whizzing, has
borne off the plume from one head, and delights in having placed it
on another.
ODE XXXV.
TO FORTUNE.
O Goddess, who presidest over beautiful Antium; thou, that art ready
to exalt mortal man from the most abject state, or to convert superb
triumphs into funerals! Thee the poor countryman solicits with his
anxious vows; whosoever plows the Carpathian Sea with the Bithynian
vessel, importunes thee as mistress of the ocean. Thee the rough
Dacian, thee the wandering Scythians, and cities, and nations, and
warlike Latium also, and the mothers of barbarian kings, and tyrants
clad in purple, fear. Spurn not with destructive foot that column
which now stands firm, nor let popular tummult rouse those, who now
rest quiet, to arms—to arms—and break the empire. Necessity, thy
minister, alway marches before thee, holding in her brazen hand huge
spikes and wedges, nor is the unyielding clamp absent, nor the
melted lead. Thee Hope reverences, and rare Fidelity robed in a
white garment; nor does she refuse to bear thee company, howsoever
in wrath thou change thy robe, and abandon the houses of the
powerful. But the faithless crowd [of companions], and the perjured
harlot draw back. Friends, too faithless to bear equally the yoke of
adversity, when casks are exhausted, very dregs and all, fly off.
Preserve thou Caesar, who is meditating an expedition against the
Britons, the furthest people in the world, and also the new levy of
youths to be dreaded by the Eastern regions, and the Red Sea. Alas!
I am ashamed of our scars, and our wickedness, and of brethren. What
have we, a hardened age, avoided? What have we in our impiety left
unviolated! From what have our youth restrained their hands, out of
reverence to the gods? What altars have they spared? O mayest thou
forge anew our blunted swords on a different anvil against the
Massagetae and Arabians.
ODE XXXVI.
This is a joyful occasion to sacrifice both with incense and music
of the lyre, and the votive blood of a heifer to the gods, the
guardians of Numida; who, now returning in safety from the extremest
part of Spain, imparts many embraces to his beloved companions, but
to none more than his dear Lamia, mindful of his childhood spent
under one and the same governor, and of the gown, which they changed
at the same time. Let not this joyful day be without a Cretan mark
of distinction; let us not spare the jar brought forth [from the
cellar]; nor, Salian-like, let there be any cessation of feet; nor
let the toping Damalis conquer Bassus in the Thracian Amystis; nor
let there be roses wanting to the banquet, nor the ever-green
parsley, nor the short-lived lily. All the company will fix their
dissolving eyes on Damalis; but she, more luxuriant than the wanton
ivy, will not be separated from her new lover.
ODE XXXVII.
TO HIS COMPANIONS.
Now, my companions, is the time to carouse, now to beat the ground
with a light foot: now is the time that was to deck the couch of the
gods with Salian dainties. Before this, it was impious to produce
the old Caecuban stored up by your ancestors; while the queen, with
a contaminated gang of creatures, noisome through distemper, was
preparing giddy destruction for the Capitol and the subversion of
the empire, being weak enough to hope for any thing, and intoxicated
with her prospering fortune. But scarcely a single ship preserved
from the flames bated her fury; and Caesar brought down her mind,
inflamed with Egyptian wine, to real fears, close pursuing her in
her flight from Italy with his galleys (as the hawk pursues the
tender doves, or the nimble hunter the hare in the plains of snowy
Aemon), that he might throw into chains this destructive monster [of
a woman]; who, seeking a more generous death, neither had an
effeminate dread of the sword, nor repaired with her swift ship to
hidden shores. She was able also to look upon her palace, lying in
ruins, with a countenance unmoved, and courageous enough to handle
exasperated asps, that she might imbibe in her body the deadly
poison, being more resolved by having pre-meditated her death: for
she was a woman of such greatness of soul, as to scorn to be carried
off in haughty triumph, like a private person, by rough Liburnians.
ODE XXXVIII.
TO HIS SERVANT.
Boy, I detest the pomp of the Persians; chaplets, which are woven
with the rind of the linden, displease me; give up the search for
the place where the latter rose abides. It is my particular desire
that you make no laborious addition to the plain myrtle; for myrtle
is neither unbecoming you a servant, nor me, while I quaff under
this mantling vine.
More History
|
