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The Works of Horace
Page 3
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THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
ODE I.
ON CONTENTMENT.
I abominate the uninitiated vulgar, and keep them at a distance.
Preserve a religious silence: I, the priest of the Muses, sing to
virgins and boys verses not heard before. The dominion of dread
sovereigns is over their own subjects; that of Jupiter, glorious for
his conquest over the giants, who shakes all nature with his nod, is
over sovereigns themselves. It happens that one man, arranges trees,
in regular rows, to a greater extent than another; this man comes
down into the Campus [Martius] as a candidate of a better family;
another vies with him for morals and a better reputation; a third
has a superior number of dependants; but Fate, by the impartial law
of nature, is allotted both to the conspicuous and the obscure; the
capacious urn keeps every name in motion. Sicilian dainties will not
force a delicious relish to that man, over whose impious neck the
naked sword hangs: the songs of birds and the lyre will not restore
his sleep. Sleep disdains not the humble cottages and shady bank of
peasants; he disdains not Tempe, fanned by zephyrs. Him, who desires
but a competency, neither the tempestuous sea renders anxious, nor
the malign violence of Arcturus setting, or of the rising Kid; not
his vineyards beaten down with hail, and a deceitful farm; his
plantations at one season blaming the rains, at another, the
influence of the constellations parching the grounds, at another,
the severe winters.
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The fishes perceive the seas
contracted, by the vast foundations that have been laid in the deep:
hither numerous undertakers with their men, and lords, disdainful of
the land, send down mortar: but anxiety and the threats of
conscience ascend by the same way as the possessor; nor does gloomy
care depart from the brazen-beaked galley, and she mounts behind the
horseman. Since then nor Phrygian marble, nor the use of purple more
dazzling than the sun, nor the Falernian vine, nor the Persian nard, composes a
troubled mind, why should I set about a lofty edifice with columns
that excite envy, and in the modern taste? Why should I exchange my
Sabine vale for wealth, which is attended with more trouble?
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ODE II.
AGAINST THE DEGENERACY OF THE ROMAN YOUTH.
Let the robust youth learn patiently to endure pinching want in the
active exercise of arms; and as an expert horseman, dreadful for his
spear, let him harass the fierce Parthians; and let him lead a life
exposed to the open air, and familiar with dangers. Him, the consort
and marriageable virgin-daughter of some warring tyrant, viewing
from the hostile walls, may sigh—- Alas! let not the affianced
prince, inexperienced as he is in arms, provoke by a touch this
terrible lion, whom bloody rage hurries through the midst of
slaughter. It is sweet and glorious to die for one's country; death
even pursues the man that flies from him; nor does he spare the
trembling knees of effeminate youth, nor the coward back. Virtue,
unknowing of base repulse, shines with immaculate honors; nor does
she assume nor lay aside the ensigns of her dignity, at the veering
of the popular air. Virtue, throwing open heaven to those who
deserve not to die, directs her progress through paths of
difficulty, and spurns with a rapid wing grovelling cowards and the
slippery earth. There is likewise a sure reward for faithful
silence. I will prohibit that man, who shall divulge the sacred
rites of mysterious Ceres, from being under the same roof with me,
or from setting sail with me in the same fragile bark: for Jupiter,
when slighted, often joins a good man in the same fate with a bad
one. Seldom hath punishment, though lame, of foot, failed to
overtake the wicked.
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ODE III.
ON STEADINESS AND INTEGRITY.
Not the rage of the people pressing to hurtful measures, not the
aspect of a threatening tyrant can shake from his settled purpose
the man who is just and determined in his resolution; nor can the
south wind, that tumultuous ruler of the restless Adriatic, nor the
mighty hand of thundering Jove; if a crushed world should fall in
upon him, the ruins would strike him undismayed. By this character
Pollux, by this the wandering Hercules, arrived at the starry
citadels; among whom Augustus has now taken his place, and quaffs
nectar with empurpled lips. Thee, O Father Bacchus, meritorious for
this virtue, thy tigers carried, drawing the yoke with intractable
neck; by this Romulus escaped Acheron on the horses of Mars—Juno
having spoken what the gods in full conclave approve: "Troy, Troy, a
fatal and lewd judge, and a foreign woman, have reduced to ashes,
condemned, with its inhabitants and fraudulent prince, to me and the
chaste Minerva, ever since Laomedon disappointed the gods of the
stipulated reward. Now neither the infamous guest of the
Lacedaemonian adulteress shines; nor does Priam's perjured family
repel the warlike Grecians by the aid of Hector, and that war, spun
out to such a length by our factions, has sunk to peace. Henceforth,
therefore, I will give up to Mars both my bitter resentment, and the
detested grandson, whom the Trojan princes bore. Him will I suffer
to enter the bright regions, to drink the juice of nectar, and to be
enrolled among the peaceful order of gods. As long as the extensive
sea rages between Troy and Rome, let them, exiles, reign happy in
any other part of the world: as long as cattle trample upon the tomb
of Priam and Paris, and wild beasts conceal their young ones there
with impunity, may the Capitol remain in splendor, and may brave
Rome be able to give laws to the conquered Medes. Tremendous let her
extend her name abroad to the extremest boundaries of the earth,
where the middle ocean separates Europe from Africa, where the
swollen Nile waters the plains; more brave in despising gold as yet
undiscovered, and so best situated while hidden in the earth, than
in forcing it out for the uses of mankind, with a hand ready to make
depredations on everything that is sacred. Whatever end of the world
has made resistance, that let her reach with her arms, joyfully
alert to visit, even that part where fiery heats rage madding; that
where clouds and rains storm with unmoderated fury. But I pronounce
this fate to the warlike Romans, upon this condition; that neither
through an excess of piety, nor of confidence in their power, they
become inclined to rebuild the houses of their ancestors' Troy. The
fortune of Troy, reviving under unlucky auspices, shall be repeated
with lamentable destruction, I, the wife and sister of Jupiter,
leading on the victorious bands. Thrice, if a brazen wall should
arise by means of its founder Phoebus, thrice should it fall,
demolished by my Grecians; thrice should the captive wife bewail her
husband and her children." These themes ill suit the merry lyre.
Whither, muse, are you going?—Cease, impertinent, to relate the
language of the gods, and to debase great things by your trifling
measures.
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ODE IV.
TO CALLIOPE.
Descend from heaven, queen Calliope, and come sing with your pipe a
lengthened strain; or, if you had now rather, with your clear voice,
or on the harp or lute of Phoebus. Do ye hear? or does a pleasing
frenzy delude me? I seem to hear [her], and to wander [with her]
along the hallowed groves, through which pleasant rivulets and gales
make their way. Me, when a child, and fatigued with play, in sleep
the woodland doves, famous in story, covered with green leaves in
the Apulian Vultur, just without the limits of my native Apulia; so
that it was matter of wonder to all that inhabit the nest of lofty
Acherontia, the Bantine Forests, and the rich soil of low Ferentum,
how I could sleep with my body safe from deadly vipers and ravenous
bears; how I could be covered with sacred laurel and myrtle heaped
together, though a child, not animated without the [inspiration of
the] gods. Yours, O ye muses, I am yours, whether I am elevated to
the Sabine heights; or whether the cool Praeneste, or the sloping
Tibur, or the watery Baiae have delighted me. Me, who am attached to
your fountains and dances, not the army put to flight at Philippi,
not the execrable tree, nor a Palinurus in the Sicilian Sea has
destroyed. While you shall be with me with pleasure will I, a
sailor, dare the raging Bosphorus; or, a traveler, the burning sands
of the Assyrian shore: I will visit the Britons inhuman to
strangers, and the Concanian delighted [with drinking] the blood of
horses; I will visit the quivered Geloni, and the Scythian river
without hurt. You entertained lofty Caesar, seeking to put an end to
his toils, in the Pierian grotto, as soon as he had distributed in
towns his troops, wearied by campaigning: you administer [to him]
moderate counsel, and graciously rejoice at it when administered. We
are aware how he, who rules the inactive earth and the stormy main,
the cities also, and the dreary realms [of hell], and alone governs
with a righteous sway both gods and the human multitude, how he took
off the impious Titans and the gigantic troop by his falling
thunderbolts. That horrid youth, trusting to the strength of their
arms, and the brethren proceeding to place Pelion upon shady
Olympus, had brought great dread [even] upon Jove. But what could
Typhoeus, and the strong Mimas, or what Porphyrion with his menacing
statue; what Rhoetus, and Enceladus, a fierce darter with trees
uptorn, avail, though rushing violently against the sounding shield
of Pallas? At one part stood the eager Vulcan, at another the matron
Juno, and he, who is never desirous to lay aside his bow from his
shoulders, Apollo, the god of Delos and Patara, who bathes his
flowing hair in the pure dew of Castalia, and possesses the groves
of Lycia and his native wood. Force, void of conduct, falls by its
own weight; moreover, the gods promote discreet force to further
advantage; but the same beings detest forces, that meditate every
kind of impiety. The hundred-handed Gyges is an evidence of the
sentiments I allege: and Orion, the tempter of the spotless Diana,
destroyed by a virgin dart. The earth, heaped over her own monsters,
grieves and laments her offspring, sent to murky Hades by a
thunderbolt; nor does the active fire consume Aetna that is placed
over it, nor does the vulture desert the liver of incontinent Tityus,
being stationed there as an avenger of his baseness; and three
hundred chains confine the amorous Pirithous.
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ODE V.
ON THE RECOVERY OF THE STANDARDS FROM PHRAATES.
We believe from his thundering that Jupiter has dominion in the
heavens: Augustus shall be esteemed a present deity the Britons and
terrible Parthians being added to the empire. What! has any soldier
of Crassus lived, a degraded husband with a barbarian wife? And has
(O [corrupted] senate, and degenerate morals!) the Marsian and
Apulian, unmindful of the sacred bucklers, of the [Roman] name and
gown, and of eternal Vesta, grown old in the lands of hostile
fathers-in-law, Jupiter and the city being in safety? The prudent
mind of Regulus had provided against this, dissenting from
ignominious terms, and inferring from such a precedent destruction
to the succeeding age, if the captive youth were not to perish
unpitied. I have beheld, said he, the Roman standards affixed to the
Carthaginian temples, and their arms taken away from our soldiers
without bloodshed. I have beheld the arms of our citizens bound
behind their free-born backs, and the gates [of the enemy] unshut,
and the fields, which were depopulated by our battles, cultivated
anew. The soldier, to be sure, ransomed by gold, will return a
braver fellow!—No—you add loss to infamy; [for] neither does the
wool once stained by the dye of the sea-weed ever resume its lost
color; nor does genuine valor, when once it has failed, care to
resume its place in those who have degenerated through cowardice. If
the hind, disentangled from the thickset toils, ever fights, then
indeed shall he be valorous, who has intrusted himself to faithless
foes; and he shall trample upon the Carthaginians in a second war,
who dastardly has felt the thongs with his arms tied behind him, and
has been afraid of death. He, knowing no other way to preserve his
life, has confounded peace with war. O scandal! O mighty Carthage,
elevated to a higher pitch by Italy's disgraceful downfall! He (Regulus)
is reported to have rejected the embrace of his virtuous wife and
his little sons like one degraded; and to have sternly fixed his
manly countenance on the ground, until, as an adviser, by his
counsel he confirmed the wavering senators, and amid his weeping
friends hastened away, a glorious exile. Notwithstanding he knew
what the barbarian executioner was providing for him, yet he pushed
from his opposing kindred and the populace retarding his return, in
no other manner, than if (after he had quitted the tedious business
of his clients, by determining their suit) he was only going to the
Venafrian plains, or the Lacedaemonian Tarentum.
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ODE VI.
TO THE ROMANS.
Thou shalt atone, O Roman, for the sins of your ancestors, though
innocent, till you shall have repaired the temples and tottering
shrines of the gods, and their statues, defiled with sooty smoke.
Thou boldest sway, because thou bearest thyself subordinate to the
gods; to this source refer every undertaking; to this, every event.
The gods, because neglected, have inflicted many evils on calamitous
Italy. Already has Monaeses, and the band of Pacorus, twice repelled
our inauspicious attacks, and exults in having added the Roman
spoils to their trivial collars. The Dacian and Ethiopian have
almost demolished the city engaged in civil broils, the one
formidable for his fleet, the other more expert for missile arrows.
The times, fertile in wickedness, have in the first place polluted
the marriage state, and [thence] the issue and families. From this
fountain perdition being derived, has overwhelmed the nation and
people. The marriageable virgin delights to be taught the Ionic
dances, and even at this time is trained up in [seductive] arts, and
cherishes unchaste desires from her very infancy. Soon after she
courts younger debauchees when her husband is in his cups, nor has
she any choice, to whom she shall privately grant her forbidden
pleasures when the lights are removed, but at the word of command,
openly, not without the knowledge of her husband, she will come
forth, whether it be a factor that calls for her, or the captain of
a Spanish ship, the extravagant purchaser of her disgrace. It was
not a youth born from parents like these, that stained the sea with
Carthaginian gore, and slew Pyrrhus, and mighty Antiochus, and
terrific Annibal; but a manly progeny of rustic soldiers, instructed
to turn the glebe with Sabine spades, and to carry clubs cut [out of
the woods] at the pleasure of a rigid mother, what time the sun
shifted the shadows of the mountains, and took the yokes from the
wearied oxen, bringing on the pleasant hour with his retreating
chariot. What does not wasting time destroy? The age of our fathers,
worse than our grandsires, produced us still more flagitious, us,
who are about to product am offspring more vicious [even than
ourselves].
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ODE VII.
TO ASTERIE.
Why, O Asterie, do you weep for Gyges, a youth of inviolable
constancy, whom the kindly zephyrs will restore to you in the
beginning of the Spring, enriched with a Bithynian cargo? Driven as
far as Oricum by the southern winds, after [the rising] of the
Goat's tempestuous constellation, he sleepless passes the cold
nights in abundant weeping [for you]; but the agent of his anxious
landlady slyly tempts him by a thousand methods, informing him that
[his mistress], Chloe, is sighing for him, and burns with the same
love that thou hast for him. He remonstrates with him how a
perfidious woman urged the credulous Proetus, by false accusations,
to hasten the death of the over-chaste Bellerophon. He tells how
Peleus was like to have been given up to the infernal regions, while
out of temperance he avoided the Magnesian Hippolyte: and the
deceiver quotes histories to him, that are lessons for sinning. In
vain; for, heart-whole as yet, he receives his words deafer than the
Icarian rocks. But with regard to you, have a care lest your
neighbor Enipeus prove too pleasing. Though no other person equally
skillful to guide the steed, is conspicuous in the course, nor does
any one with equal swiftness swim down the Etrurian stream, yet
secure your house at the very approach of night, nor look down into
the streets at the sound of the doleful pipe; and remain inflexible
toward him, though he often upbraid thee with cruelty.
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ODE VIII.
TO MAECENAS.
O Maecenas, learned in both languages, you wonder what I, a single
man, have to do on the calends of March; what these flowers mean,
and the censer replete with frankincense, and the coals laid upon
the live turf. I made a vow of a joyous banquet, and a white goat to
Bacchus, after having been at the point of death by a blow from a
tree. This day, sacred in the revolving year, shall remove the cork
fastened with pitch from that jar, which was set to inhale the smoke
in the consulship of Tullus. Take, my Maecenas, a hundred cups on
account of the safety of your friend, and continue the wakeful lamps
even to day-light: all clamor and passion be far away. Postpone your
political cares with regard to the state: the army of the Dacian
Cotison is defeated; the troublesome Mede is quarreling with himself
in a horrible [civil] war: the Cantabrian, our old enemy on the
Spanish coast, is subject to us, though conquered by a long-disputed
victory: now, too, the Scythians are preparing to quit the field
with their imbent bows. Neglectful, as a private person, forbear to
be too solicitous lest the community in any wise suffer, and
joyfully seize the boons of the present hour, and quit serious
affairs.
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ODE IX.
TO LYDIA.
HORACE. As long as I was agreeable to thee, and no other youth more
favored was wont to fold his arms around thy snowy neck, I lived
happier than the Persian monarch.
LYDIA. As long as thou hadst not a greater flame for any other, nor
was Lydia below Chloe [in thine affections], I Lydia, of
distinguished fame, flourished more eminent than the Roman Ilia.
HOR. The Thracian Chloe now commands me, skillful in sweet
modulations, and a mistress of the lyre; for whom I would not dread
to die, if the fates would spare her, my surviving soul.
LYD. Calais, the son of the Thurian Ornitus, inflames me with a
mutual fire; for whom I would twice endure to die, if the fates
would spare my surviving youth.
HOR. What! if our former love returns, and unites by a brazen yoke
us once parted? What if Chloe with her golden locks be shaken off,
and the door again open to slighted Lydia.
LYD. Though he is fairer than a star, thou of more levity than a
cork, and more passionate than the blustering Adriatic; with thee I
should love to live, with thee I would cheerfully die.
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ODE X.
TO LYCE.
O Lyce, had you drunk from the remote Tanais, in a state of marriage
with tome barbarian, yet you might be sorry to expose me, prostrate
before your obdurate doors, to the north winds that have made those
places their abode. Do you hear with what a noise your gate, with
what [a noise] the grove, planted about your elegant buildings,
rebellows to the winds? And how Jupiter glazes the settled snow with
his bright influence? Lay aside disdain, offensive to Venus, lest
your rope should run backward, while the wheel is revolving. Your
Tyrrhenian father did not beget you to be as inaccessible as
Penelope to your wooers. O though neither presents, nor prayers, nor
the violet-tinctured paleness of your lovers, nor your husband
smitten with a musical courtezan, bend you to pity; yet [at length]
spare your suppliants, you that are not softer than the sturdy oak,
nor of a gentler disposition than the African serpents. This side
[of mine] will not always be able to endure your threshold, and the
rain.
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ODE XI.
TO MERCURY.
O Mercury, for under thy instruction the ingenious Amphion moved
rocks by his voice, you being his tutor; and though my harp, skilled
in sounding, with seven strings, formerly neither vocal nor
pleasing, but now agreeable both to the tables of the wealthy and
the temples [of the gods]; dictate measures to which Lyde may
incline her obstinate ears, who, like a filly of three years old,
plays and frisks about in the spacious fields, inexperienced in
nuptial loves, and hitherto unripe for a brisk husband. You are able
to draw after your tigers and attendant woods, and to retard rapid
rivers. To your blandishments the enormous porter of the [infernal]
palace yielded, though a hundred serpents fortify his head, and a
pestilential steam and an infectious poison issue from his
triple-tongued mouth. Moreover, Ixion and Tityus smiled with a
reluctant aspect: while you soothe the daughters of Danaus with your
delightful harmony, their vessel for some time remained dry. Let
Lyde hear of the crime, and the well-known punishment of the
virgins, and the cask emptied by the water streaming through the
bottom, and what lasting fates await their misdeeds even beyond the
grave. Impious! (for what greater impiety could they have
committed?) Impious! who could destroy their bridegrooms with the
cruel sword! One out of the many, worthy of the nuptial torch, was
nobly false to her perjured parent, and a maiden illustrious to all
posterity; she, who said to her youthful husband, "Arise! arise!
lest an eternal sleep be given to you from a hand you have no
suspicion of; disappoint your father-in-law and my wicked sisters,
who, like lionesses having possessed themselves of calves (alas)!
tear each of them to pieces; I, of softer mold than they, will
neither strike thee, nor detain thee in my custody. Let my father
load me with cruel chains, because out of mercy I spared my unhappy
spouse; let him transport me even to the extreme Numidian plains.
Depart, whither your feet and the winds carry you, while the night
and Venus are favorable: depart with happy omen; yet, not forgetful
of me, engrave my mournful story on my tomb."
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ODE XII.
TO NEOBULE.
It is for unhappy maidens neither to give indulgence to love, nor to
wash away cares with delicious wine; or to be dispirited out of
dread of the lashes of an uncle's tongue. The winged boy of Venus, O
Neobule, has deprived you of your spindle and your webs, and the
beauty of Hebrus from Lipara of inclination for the labors of
industrious Minerva, after he has bathed his anointed shoulders in
the waters of the Tiber; a better horseman than Bellerophon himself,
neither conquered at boxing, nor by want of swiftness in the race:
he is also skilled to strike with his javelin the stags, flying
through the open plains in frightened herd, and active to surprise
the wild boar lurking in the deep thicket.
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ODE XIII. TO THE BANDUSIAN FOUNTAIN.
O thou fountain of Bandusia, clearer than glass, worthy of delicious
wine, not unadorned by flowers; to-morrow thou shalt be presented
with a kid, whose forehead, pouting with new horns, determines upon
both love and war in vain; for this offspring of the wanton flock
shall tinge thy cooling streams with scarlet blood. The severe
season of the burning dog-star cannot reach thee; thou affordest a
refreshing coolness to the oxen fatigued with the plough-share, and
to the ranging flock. Thou also shalt become one of the famous
fountains, through my celebrating the oak that covers the hollow
rock, whence thy prattling rills descend with a bound.
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ODE XIV.
TO THE ROMANS.
Augustus Caesar, O ye people, who was lately said, like another
Hercules, to have sought for the laurel to be purchased only by
death, revisits his domestic gods, victorious from the Spanish
shore. Let the matron (Livia), to whom her husband alone is dear,
come forth in public procession, having first performed her duty to
the just gods; and (Octavia), the sister of our glorious general;
the mothers also of the maidens and of the youths just preserved
from danger, becomingly adorned with supplicatory fillets. Ye, O
young men, and young women lately married, abstain from ill-omened
words. This day, to me a real festival, shall expel gloomy cares: I
will neither dread commotions, nor violent death, while Caesar is in
possession of the earth. Go, slave, and seek for perfume and
chaplets, and a cask that remembers the Marsian war, if any vessel
could elude the vagabond Spartacus. And bid the tuneful Neaera make
haste to collect into a knot her auburn hair; but if any delay
should happen from the surly porter, come away. Hoary hair mollifies
minds that are fond of strife and petulant wrangling. I would not
have endured this treatment, warm with youth in the consulship of
Plancus.
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ODE XV.
TO CHLORIS.
You wife of the indigent Ibycus, at length put an end to your
wickedness, and your infamous practices. Cease to sport among the
damsels, and to diffuse a cloud among bright constellations, now on
the verge of a timely death. If any thing will become Pholoe, it
does not you Chloris, likewise. Your daughter with more propriety
attacks the young men's apartments, like a Bacchanalian roused up by
the rattling timbrel. The love of Nothus makes her frisk about like
a wanton she-goat. The wool shorn near the famous Luceria becomes
you now antiquated: not musical instruments, or the damask flower of
the rose, or hogsheads drunk down to the lees.
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ODE XVI.
TO MAECENAS.
A brazen tower, and doors of oak, and the melancholy watch of
wakeful dogs, had sufficiently defended the imprisoned Danae from
midnight gallants, had not Jupiter and Venus laughed at Acrisius,
the anxious keeper of the immured maiden: [for they well knew] that
the way would be safe and open, after the god had transformed
himself into a bribe. Gold delights to penetrate through the midst
of guards, and to break through stone-walls, more potent than the
thunderbolt. The family of the Grecian augur perished, immersed in
destruction on account of lucre. The man of Macedon cleft the gates
of the cities and subverted rival monarchs by bribery. Bribes
enthrall fierce captains of ships. Care, and a thirst for greater
things, is the consequence of increasing wealth. Therefore,
Maecenas, thou glory of the [Roman] knights, I have justly dreaded
to raise the far-conspicuous head. As much more as any man shall
deny himself, so much more shall he receive from the gods. Naked as
I am, I seek the camps of those who covet nothing; and as a
deserter, rejoice to quit the side of the wealthy: a more
illustrious possessor of a contemptible fortune, than if I could be
said to treasure up in my granaries all that the industrious Apulian
cultivates, poor amid abundance of wealth. A rivulet of clear water,
and a wood of a few acres, and a certain prospect of my good crop,
are blessings unknown to him who glitters in the proconsulship of
fertile Africa: I am more happily circumstanced. Though neither the
Calabrian bees produce honey, nor wine ripens to age for me in a
Formian cask, nor rich fleeces increase in Gallic pastures; yet
distressful poverty is remote; nor, if I desired more, would you
refuse to grant it me. I shall be better able to extend my small
revenues, by contracting my desires, than if I could join the
kingdom of Alyattes to the Phrygian plains. Much is wanting to those
who covet much. 'Tis well with him to whom God has given what is
necessary with a sparing hand.
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ODE XVII.
TO AELIUS LAMIA.
O Aelius, who art nobly descended from the ancient Lamus (forasmuch
as they report, that both the first of the Lamian family had their
name hence, and all the race of the descendants through faithful
records derives its origin from that founder, who is said to have
possessed, as prince, the Formian walls, and Liris gliding on the
shores of Marica—an extensive potentate). To-morrow a tempest sent
from the east shall strew the grove with many leaves, and the shore
with useless sea-weed, unless that old prophetess of rain, the
raven, deceives me. Pile up the dry wood, while you may; to-morrow
you shall indulge your genius with wine, and with a pig of two
months old, with your slaves dismissed from their labors.
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ODE XVIII.
TO FAUNUS.
A HYMN.
O Faunus, thou lover of the flying nymphs, benignly traverse my
borders and sunny fields, and depart propitious to the young
offspring of my flocks; if a tender kid fall [a victim] to thee at
the completion of the year, and plenty of wines be not wanting to
the goblet, the companion of Venus, and the ancient altar smoke with
liberal perfume. All the cattle sport in the grassy plain, when the
nones of December return to thee; the village keeping holiday enjoys
leisure in the fields, together with the oxen free from toil. The
wolf wanders among the fearless lambs; the wood scatters its rural
leaves for thee, and the laborer rejoices to have beaten the hated
ground in triple dance.
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ODE XIX.
TO TELEPHUS.
How far Codrus, who was not afraid to die for his country, is
removed from Inachus, and the race of Aeacus, and the battles also
that were fought at sacred Troy—[these subjects] you descant upon;
but at what price we may purchase a hogshead of Chian; who shall
warm the water [for bathing]; who finds a house: and at what hour I
am to get rid of these Pelignian colds, you are silent. Give me,
boy, [a bumper] for the new moon in an instant, give me one for
midnight, and one for Murena the augur. Let our goblets be mixed up
with three or nine cups, according to every one's disposition. The
enraptured bard, who delights in the odd-numbered muses, shall call
for brimmers thrice three. Each of the Graces, in conjunction with
the naked sisters, fearful of broils, prohibits upward of three. It
is my pleasure to rave; why cease the breathings of the Phrygian
flute? Why is the pipe hung up with the silent lyre? I hate your
niggardly handfuls: strew roses freely. Let the envious Lycus hear
the jovial noise; and let our fair neighbor, ill-suited to the old
Lycus, [hear it.] The ripe Rhode aims at thee, Telephus, smart with
thy bushy locks; at thee, bright as the clear evening star; the love
of my Glycera slowly consumes me.
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ODE XX.
TO PYRRHUS.
Do you not perceive, O Pyrrhus, at what hazard yon are taking away
the whelps from a Gutulian lioness? In a little while you, a
timorous ravisher, shall fly from the severe engagement, when she
shall march through the opposing band of youths, re-demanding her
beauteous Nearchus; a grand contest, whether a greater share of
booty shall fall to thee or to her! In the mean time, while you
produce your swift arrows, she whets her terrific teeth; while the
umpire of the combat is reported to have placed the palm under his
naked foot, and refreshed his shoulder, overspread with his perfumed
locks, with the gentle breeze: just such another was Nireus, or he
that was ravished from the watery Ida.
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ODE XXI.
TO HIS JAR.
O thou goodly cask, that wast brought to light at the same time with
me in the consulship of Manlius, whether thou containest the
occasion of complaint, or jest, or broils and maddening amours, or
gentle sleep; under whatever title thou preservest the choice
Massic, worthy to be removed on an auspicious day; descend, Corvinus
bids me draw the mellowest wine. He, though he is imbued in the
Socratic lectures, will not morosely reject thee. The virtue even of
old Cato is recorded to have been frequently warmed with wine. Thou
appliest a gentle violence to that disposition, which is in general
of the rougher cast: Thou revealest the cares and secret designs of
the wise, by the assistance of merry Bacchus. You restore hope and
spirit to anxious minds, and give horns to the poor man, who after
[tasting] you neither dreads the diadems of enraged monarchs, nor
the weapons of the soldiers. Thee Bacchus, and Venus, if she comes
in good-humor, and the Graces loth to dissolve the knot [of their
union], and living lights shall prolong, till returning Phoebus puts
the stars to flight.
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ODE XXII.
TO DIANA.
O virgin, protectress of the mountains and the groves, thou
three-formed goddess, who thrice invoked, hearest young women in
labor, and savest them from death; sacred to thee be this pine that
overshadows my villa, which I, at the completion of every year,
joyful will present with the blood of a boar-pig, just meditating
his oblique attack.
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ODE XXIII.
TO PHIDYLE.
My rustic Phidyle, if you raise your suppliant hands to heaven at
the new moon, and appease the household gods with frankincense, and
this year's fruits, and a ravening swine; the fertile vine shall
neither feel the pestilential south-west, nor the corn the barren
blight, or your dear brood the sickly season in the fruit-bearing
autumn. For the destined victim, which is pastured in the snowy
Algidus among the oaks and holm trees, or thrives in the Albanian
meadows, with its throat shall stain the axes of the priests. It is
not required of you, who are crowning our little gods with rosemary
and the brittle myrtle, to propitiate them with a great slaughter of
sheep. If an innocent hand touches a clear, a magnificent victim
does not pacify the offended Penates more acceptably, than a
consecrated cake and crackling salt.
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ODE XXIV.
TO THE COVETOUS.
Though, more wealthy than the unrifled treasures of the Arabians and
rich India, you should possess yourself by your edifices of the
whole Tyrrhenian and Apulian seas; yet, if cruel fate fixes its
adamantine grapples upon the topmost roofs, you shall not disengage
your mind from dread, nor your life from the snares of death. The
Scythians that dwell in the plains, whose carts, according to their
custom, draw their vagrant habitations, live in a better manner; and
[so do] the rough Getae, whose uncircumscribed acres produce fruits
and corn free to all, nor is a longer than annual tillage agreeable,
and a successor leaves him who has accomplished his labor by an
equal right. There the guiltless wife spares her motherless
step-children, nor does the portioned spouse govern her husband, nor
put any confidence in a sleek adulterer. Their dower is the high
virtue of their parents, and a chastity reserved from any other man
by a steadfast security; and it, is forbidden to sin, or the reward
is death. O if there be any one willing to remove our impious
slaughters, and civil rage; if he be desirous to be written FATHER
OF THE STATE, on statues [erected to him], let him dare to curb
insuperable licentiousness, and be eminent to posterity; since we (O
injustice!) detest virtue while living, but invidiously seek for her
after she is taken out of our view. To what purpose are our woeful
complaints, if sin is not cut off with punishment? Of what efficacy
are empty laws, without morals; if neither that part of the world
which is shut in by fervent heats, nor that side which borders upon
Boreas, and snows hardened upon the ground, keep off the merchant;
[and] the expert sailors get the better of the horrible seas?
Poverty, a great reproach, impels us both to do and to suffer any
thing, and deserts the path of difficult virtue. Let us, then, cast
our gems and precious stones and useless gold, the cause of extreme
evil, either into the Capitol, whither the acclamations and crowd of
applauding [citizens] call us, or into the adjoining ocean. If we
are truly penitent for our enormities, the very elements of depraved
lust are to be erased, and the minds of too soft a mold should be
formed by severer studies. The noble youth knows not how to keep his
seat on horseback and is afraid to go a hunting, more skilled to
play (if you choose it) with the Grecian trochus, or dice,
prohibited by law; while the father's perjured faith can deceive his
partner and friend, and he hastens to get money for an unworthy
heir. In a word, iniquitous wealth increases, yet something is ever
wanting to the incomplete fortune.
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ODE XXV.
TO BACCHUS.
A DITHYRAMBIC.
Whither, O Bacchus, art thou hurrying me, replete with your
influence? Into what groves, into what recesses am I driven,
actuated with uncommon spirit? In what caverns, meditating the
immortal honor of illustrious Caesar, shall I be heard enrolling him
among the stars and the council of Jove? I will utter something
extraordinary, new, hitherto unsung by any other voice. Thus the
sleepless Bacchanal is struck with enthusiasm, casting her eyes upon
Hebrus, and Thrace bleached with snow, and Rhodope traversed by the
feet of barbarians. How am I delighted in my rambles, to admire the
rocks and the desert grove! O lord of the Naiads and the
Bacchanalian women, who are able with their hands to overthrow lofty
ash-trees; nothing little, nothing low, nothing mortal will I sing.
Charming is the hazard, O Bacchus, to accompany the god, who binds
his temples with the verdant vine-leaf.
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ODE XXVI.
TO VENUS.
I lately lived a proper person for girls, and campaigned it not
without honor; but now this wall, which guards the left side of [the
statue] of sea-born Venus, shall have my arms and my lyre discharged
from warfare. Here, here, deposit the shining flambeaux, and the
wrenching irons, and the bows, that threatened the resisting doors.
O thou goddess, who possessest the blissful Cyprus, and Memphis free
from Sithonian snow, O queen, give the haughty Chloe one cut with
your high-raised lash.
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ODE XXVII.
TO GALATEA, UPON HER GOING TO SEA.
Let the omen of the noisy screech-owl and a pregnant bitch, or a
tawny wolf running down from the Lanuvian fields, or a fox with
whelp conduct the impious [on their way]; may the serpent also break
their undertaken journey, if, like an arrow athwart the road, it has
frightened the horses. What shall I, a provident augur, fear? I will
invoke from the east, with my prayers, the raven forboding by his
croaking, before the bird which presages impending showers, revisits
the stagnant pools. Mayest thou be happy, O Galatea, wheresoever
thou choosest to reside, and live mindful of me and neither the
unlucky pye nor the vagrant crow forbids your going on. But you see,
with what an uproar the prone Orion hastens on: I know what the dark
bay of the Adriatic is, and in what manner Iapyx, [seemingly]
serene, is guilty. Let the wives and children of our enemies feel
the blind tumults of the rising south, and the roaring of the
blackened sea, and the shores trembling with its lash. Thus too
Europa trusted her fair side to the deceitful bull, and bold as she
was, turned pale at the sea abounding with monsters, and the cheat
now become manifest. She, who lately in the meadows was busied about
flowers, and a composer of the chaplet meet for nymphs, saw nothing
in the dusky night put stars and water. Who as soon as she arrived
at Crete, powerful with its hundred cities, cried out, overcome with
rage, "O father, name abandoned by thy daughter! O my duty! Whence,
whither am I come? One death is too little for virgins' crime. Am I
awake, while I deplore my base offense; or does some vain phantom,
which, escaping from the ivory gate, brings on a dream, impose upon
me, still free from guilt. Was it better to travel over the tedious
waves, or to gather the fresh flowers? If any one now would deliver
up to me in my anger this infamous bull, I would do my utmost to
tear him to pieces with steel, and break off the horns of the
monster, lately so much beloved. Abandoned I have left my father's
house, abandoned I procrastinate my doom. O if any of the gods hear
this, I wish I may wander naked among lions: before foul decay
seizes my comely cheeks, and moisture leaves this tender prey, I
desire, in all my beauty, to be the food of tigers." "Base Europa,"
thy absent father urges, "why do you hesitate to die? you may
strangle your neck suspended from this ash, with your girdle that
has commodiously attended you. Or if a precipice, and the rocks that
are edged with death, please you, come on, commit yourself to the
rapid storm; unless you, that are of blood-royal, had rather card
your mistress's wool, and be given up as a concubine to some
barbarian dame." As she complained, the treacherously-smiling Venus,
and her son, with his bow relaxed, drew near. Presently, when she
had sufficiently rallied her, "Refrain (she cried) from your rage
and passionate chidings, since this detested bull shall surrender
his horns to be torn in pieces by you. Are you ignorant, that you
are the wife of the invincible Jove? Cease your sobbing; learn duly
to support your distinguished good fortune. A division of the world
shall bear your name."
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ODE XXVIII.
TO LYDE.
What can I do better on the festal day of Neptune? Quickly produce,
Lyde, the hoarded Caecuban, and make an attack upon wisdom, ever on
her guard. You perceive the noontide is on its decline; and yet, as
if the fleeting day stood still, you delay to bring out of the
store-house the loitering cask, [that bears its date] from the
consul Bibulus. We will sing by turns, Neptune, and the green locks
of the Nereids; you, shall chant, on your wreathed lyre, Latona and
the darts of the nimble Cynthia; at the conclusion of your song, she
also [shall be celebrated], who with her yoked swans visits Gnidos,
and the shining Cyclades, and Paphos: the night also shall be
celebrated in a suitable lay.
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ODE XXIX.
TO MAECENAS.
O Maecenas, thou progeny of Tuscan kings, there has been a long
while for you in my house some mellow wine in an unbroached
hogshead, with rose-flowers and expressed essence for your hair.
Disengage yourself from anything that may retard you, nor
contemplate the ever marshy Tibur, and the sloping fields of Aesula,
and the hills of Telegonus the parricide. Leave abundance, which is
the source of daintiness, and yon pile of buildings approaching near
the lofty clouds: cease to admire the smoke, and opulence, and noise
of flourishing Rome. A change is frequently agreeable to the rich,
and a cleanly meal in the little cottage of the poor has smoothed an
anxious brow without carpets or purple. Now the bright father of
Andromeda displays his hidden fire; now Procyon rages, and the
constellation of the ravening Lion, as the sun brings round the
thirsty season. Now the weary shepherd with his languid flock seeks
the shade, and the river, and the thickets of rough Sylvanus; and
the silent bank is free from the wandering winds. You regard what
constitution may suit the state, and are in an anxious dread for
Rome, what preparations the Seres and the Bactrians subject to
Cyrus, and the factious Tanais are making. A wise deity shrouds in
obscure darkness the events of the time to come, and smiles if a
mortal is solicitous beyond the law of nature. Be mindful to manage
duly that which is present. What remains goes on in the manner of
the river, at one time calmly gliding in the middle of its channel
to the Tuscan Sea, at another, rolling along corroded stones, and
stumps of trees, forced away, and cattle, and houses, not without
the noise of mountains and neighboring woods, when the merciless
deluge enrages the peaceful waters. That man is master of himself
and shall live happy, who has it in his power to say, "I have lived
to-day: to-morrow let the Sire invest the heaven, either with a
black cloud, or with clear sunshine; nevertheless, he shall not
render ineffectual what is past, nor undo or annihilate what the
fleeting hour has once carried off. Fortune, happy in the execution
of her cruel office, and persisting to play her insolent game,
changes uncertain honors, indulgent now to me, by and by to another.
I praise her, while she abides by me. If she moves her fleet wings,
I resign what she has bestowed, and wrap myself up in my virtue, and
court honest poverty without a portion. It is no business of mine,
if the mast groan with the African storms, to have recourse to
piteous prayers, and to make a bargain with my vows, that my Cyprian
and Syrian merchandize may not add to the wealth of the insatiable
sea. Then the gale and the twin Pollux will carry me safe in the
protection of a skiff with two oars, through the tumultuous Aegean
Sea."
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ODE XXX.
ON HIS OWN WORKS.
I have completed a monument more lasting than brass, and more
sublime than the regal elevation of pyramids, which neither the
wasting shower, the unavailing north wind, nor an innumerable
succession of years, and the flight of seasons, shall be able to
demolish. I shall not wholly die; but a great part of me shall
escape Libitina. I shall continualy be renewed in the praises of
posterity, as long as the priest shall ascend the Capitol with the
silent [vestal] virgin. Where the rapid Aufidus shall murmur, and
where Daunus, poorly supplied with water, ruled over a rustic
people, I, exalted from a low degree, shall be acknowledged as
having originally adapted the Aeolic verse to Italian measures.
Melpomene, assume that pride which your merits have acquired, and
willingly crown my hair with the Delphic laurel.
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