 | The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) |  |
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BOOK IV.
ODE I. To Venus.
Affter a long and lasting Peace,
Venus once more disturbs my Ease;
And yet my former Vigour's lost,
When lovely Cinara engross'd
All Hearts, and was the Reiging Toast.
Venus once more disturbs my Ease;
And yet my former Vigour's lost,
When lovely Cinara engross'd
All Hearts, and was the Reiging Toast.
Relentless Queen of soft Desires!
O spare me and asswage my Fires;
I'm old and stiff, and cannot bear
Your Yoke; hence to the Young and Fair,
Your better Votaries, repair.
O spare me and asswage my Fires;
I'm old and stiff, and cannot bear
Your Yoke; hence to the Young and Fair,
Your better Votaries, repair.
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Go with your Chariot and your Doves,
And all your little wanton Loves
To Paulus, with high Vigour blest;
Go to his gentle am'rous Breast,
Fit to receive so warm a Guest:
And all your little wanton Loves
To Paulus, with high Vigour blest;
Go to his gentle am'rous Breast,
Fit to receive so warm a Guest:
For he is Noble, Gay and Young,
And has a sweet, enchanting Tongue;
By him your Empire will increase,
For he's a Master of Address,
And has a thousand Arts to please.
And has a sweet, enchanting Tongue;
By him your Empire will increase,
For he's a Master of Address,
And has a thousand Arts to please.
A Marble Statue for his Sake
Shall glitter near th' Albanian Lake,
When by your Aid the happy Man
Can triumph in a Rival's Pain,
And laugh to see him bribe in vain.
Shall glitter near th' Albanian Lake,
When by your Aid the happy Man
Can triumph in a Rival's Pain,
And laugh to see him bribe in vain.
There Incense, ever fresh and sweet,
Your Nostrils with Perfumes shall greet;
The Pipe its warbling Voice shall raise,
The Pipe and Lyre begin their Lays,
And join in Consort to your Praise.
Your Nostrils with Perfumes shall greet;
The Pipe its warbling Voice shall raise,
The Pipe and Lyre begin their Lays,
And join in Consort to your Praise.
Our Youth and Virgins twice a Day
Shall revel there, and sport and play;
Their snowy Feet shall nimbly bound,
Whilst hand in hand they beat the Ground,
And put the Salick Measure round.
Shall revel there, and sport and play;
Their snowy Feet shall nimbly bound,
Whilst hand in hand they beat the Ground,
And put the Salick Measure round.
Whilst I, unfit for am'rous Joys,
Alike neglect the Nymphs and Boys;
No Garlands round my Temples bend,
Nor can I with my Jovial Friend
In Laughing Bumpers long contend.
Alike neglect the Nymphs and Boys;
No Garlands round my Temples bend,
Nor can I with my Jovial Friend
In Laughing Bumpers long contend.
Yet tell me, Ligurinus, tell,
Why do these Tears thus gently steal
Along my Cheeks with Sorrow drown'd?
Why are my Lips thus fault'ring found,
With an imperfect broken Sound?
Why do these Tears thus gently steal
Along my Cheeks with Sorrow drown'd?
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With an imperfect broken Sound?
Thee in my Dreams each Night I chace,
Thee oft with eager Arms embrace;
As o'er the dusty Plains you stray,
Or in the flowing Waters play,
Ah, Youth! more swift, more false than they.
Thee oft with eager Arms embrace;
As o'er the dusty Plains you stray,
Or in the flowing Waters play,
Ah, Youth! more swift, more false than they.
ODE II. To Antonius Julus.
He, who to Pindar's Flights would rise,
With Pinions not his own,
Like Icarus attempts the Skies,
And soon shall tumble down.
With Pinions not his own,
Like Icarus attempts the Skies,
And soon shall tumble down.
Pindar's a mighty raging Flood,
That from some Mountain flows,
Rapid, and warm, and deep, and loud,
Whose Force no Limits knows.
That from some Mountain flows,
Rapid, and warm, and deep, and loud,
Whose Force no Limits knows.
To him Apollo yields the Bays,
When proud of Liberty,
In loose unmeasur'd Strains he plays,
From slavish Numbers free.
When proud of Liberty,
In loose unmeasur'd Strains he plays,
From slavish Numbers free.
Whether in lofty Verse he sing
Some celebrated Name;
Some mighty God, or Godlike King,
Who could a Monster tame;
Some celebrated Name;
Some mighty God, or Godlike King,
Who could a Monster tame;
Or chant th' Olympick Victor's Fame,
In everlasting Lays;
And give him a more Deathless Name,
Than Sculpture's Self can raise.
In everlasting Lays;
And give him a more Deathless Name,
Than Sculpture's Self can raise.
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Or whether he lament some Youth
Agreeable and brave;
Proclaim his Courage and his Truth,
And snatch him from the Grave.
Agreeable and brave;
Proclaim his Courage and his Truth,
And snatch him from the Grave.
He, wrapt in Æther, like the Swan,
Aspiring soars on High;
I, like the Bee, just skim the Plain,
And round the Meadows fly.
Aspiring soars on High;
I, like the Bee, just skim the Plain,
And round the Meadows fly.
From Tibur's Groves and watry Shore,
With never-ceasing Pains
I cull the Sweets of every Flow'r,
And form my labour'd Strains.
With never-ceasing Pains
I cull the Sweets of every Flow'r,
And form my labour'd Strains.
Of Cæsar's Triumphs you shall sing,
That grace the Sacred Way;
And praise him on a nobler String,
Who made the Gaul obey.
That grace the Sacred Way;
And praise him on a nobler String,
Who made the Gaul obey.
Cæsar's the greatest Good below,
The Gods themselves could give;
The Pow'rs no greater could bestow,
Should Saturn's Age revive.
The Gods themselves could give;
The Pow'rs no greater could bestow,
Should Saturn's Age revive.
Do you rehearse the publick Joys,
On lofty Pinions borne,
The Forum free from Strife and Noise,
At Cæsar's safe Return.
On lofty Pinions borne,
The Forum free from Strife and Noise,
At Cæsar's safe Return.
If then my humble Lays prevail
Amidst the Voice of Rome,
I'll cry, O happy Sun! all Hail!
Who bring'st great Cæsar home.
Amidst the Voice of Rome,
I'll cry, O happy Sun! all Hail!
Who bring'st great Cæsar home.
Let Iö, Iö, ring around,
As Cæsar moves along;
Let Incense smoak, and Iö sound,
The universal Song.
As Cæsar moves along;
Let Incense smoak, and Iö sound,
The universal Song.
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Ten brawny Bulls must bleed for you,
As many lowing Cows;
A wanton Heifer is my Due,
Reserv'd to crown my Vows:
As many lowing Cows;
A wanton Heifer is my Due,
Reserv'd to crown my Vows:
Like the New-Moon her bended Horns
In even Spaces shine;
A Milk-white Star her Head adorns,
And marks the yellow Skin.
In even Spaces shine;
A Milk-white Star her Head adorns,
And marks the yellow Skin.
ODE III. To Melpomene.
The Youth, whose Birth the kindly MuseWith an indulgent Aspect views,
Shall neither at the Barrier shine,
Nor the Olympick Garland win,
Nor drive the Chariot o'er the Plain,
Nor guide with Skill the flowing Rein;
No Laurel Wreaths for Battels won,
Shall the triumphant Victor crown,
When to the Capitol he leads,
And on the Necks of Monarchs treads;
But Tibur's Streams and verdant Glades,
The limpid Spring, and gloomy Shades,
Shall fill his never-dying Lays,
And crown him with immortal Praise.
Amidst her other vocal Sons,
Me Rome, the Prince of Cities, owns
A Master of the tuneful Lyre,
And seats me in Apollo's Quire.
The vulgar Criticks I disdain,
And Envy grinds her Teeth in vain.
O Goddess of the golden Shell!
Whose Hands in artful Notes excel;
Mute Fishes, when inspir'd by Thee,
Can mate the Swan in Harmony:
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When pointing Crowds, where-e'er I go,
Gaze and admire, and cry, That's He!
The Prince of Lyrick Poetry!
For (if I please) I please by Thee.
ODE IV.
The Royal Bird to whom the King of Heav'n,
The Empire of the feather'd Race has giv'n,
For Services already done,
The Rape of Priam's Son,
With high paternal Virtues fill'd,
Tho' Young, and from the Nest unskill'd,
His first Attempt with trembling Pinions tries,
Then down the sweeping Wind with rapid Swiftness flies,
And midst the frighted Lambkins bears away,
With mighty Force, his trembling Prey;
Or dips his Beak in Serpent's Blood,
Eager of Battel and of Food.
The Empire of the feather'd Race has giv'n,
For Services already done,
The Rape of Priam's Son,
With high paternal Virtues fill'd,
Tho' Young, and from the Nest unskill'd,
His first Attempt with trembling Pinions tries,
Then down the sweeping Wind with rapid Swiftness flies,
And midst the frighted Lambkins bears away,
With mighty Force, his trembling Prey;
Or dips his Beak in Serpent's Blood,
Eager of Battel and of Food.
The Lion, Prince of Brutes, his Dam forsakes,
And through the shaggy Herd, wild Slaughter makes,
Chacing some Goat along the Plain,
That flies, but flies in vain;
Such Drusus did in Arms appear,
When near the Alps he urg'd the War:
In vain the Rhæti did their Axes wield,
Like Amazons they fought, like Women fled the Field:
But why those savage Troops this Weapon chuse,
Confirm'd by long establish'd Use,
Historians would in vain disclose:
For who of Men all Secrets knows?
And through the shaggy Herd, wild Slaughter makes,
Chacing some Goat along the Plain,
That flies, but flies in vain;
Such Drusus did in Arms appear,
When near the Alps he urg'd the War:
In vain the Rhæti did their Axes wield,
Like Amazons they fought, like Women fled the Field:
But why those savage Troops this Weapon chuse,
Confirm'd by long establish'd Use,
Historians would in vain disclose:
For who of Men all Secrets knows?
At length, when crush'd by the young Warriour's Hand,
They knew, what Heroes, under Cæsar train'd,
Could do; to whom the Sire bequeaths
His Soul; in whom he breaths:
The royal Bird of mighty Jove,
Never brings forth a tim'rous Dove:
To valiant Fathers, valiant Sons succeed;
Thus Bulls from Bulls descend, and martial Horses breed.
Yet the best Blood by Learning is refin'd,
And Virtue arms the solid Mind;
Whilst Vice will stain the noblest Race,
And the paternal Stamp efface.
They knew, what Heroes, under Cæsar train'd,
Could do; to whom the Sire bequeaths
His Soul; in whom he breaths:
The royal Bird of mighty Jove,
Never brings forth a tim'rous Dove:
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Thus Bulls from Bulls descend, and martial Horses breed.
Yet the best Blood by Learning is refin'd,
And Virtue arms the solid Mind;
Whilst Vice will stain the noblest Race,
And the paternal Stamp efface.
Metaurum's bloody Waves and Banks shall tell,
How Asdrubal by Roman Valour fell,
What Rome to Nero's Offspring owes:
A nobler Son arose,
Smiling with Triumph, on that Day,
Which chac'd our Clouds and Foes away;
Who, like a Flame, all Italy o'er-ran,
Swift as the Eastern Wind that skims along the Main.
'Twas then the Pow'rs above began to bless
Our Troops with Conquest and Success;
The Gods, by impious Hands defac'd,
Once more erect, their Altars grac'd.
How Asdrubal by Roman Valour fell,
What Rome to Nero's Offspring owes:
A nobler Son arose,
Smiling with Triumph, on that Day,
Which chac'd our Clouds and Foes away;
Who, like a Flame, all Italy o'er-ran,
Swift as the Eastern Wind that skims along the Main.
'Twas then the Pow'rs above began to bless
Our Troops with Conquest and Success;
The Gods, by impious Hands defac'd,
Once more erect, their Altars grac'd.
At last perfidious Hannibal thus spoke:
We, like the Stag, the brinded Wolf provoke;
And when Retreat is Victory,
Rush on, tho' sure to die.
When Troy was sack'd, this People came
Thro' Tuscan Seas, and Grecian Flame;
Their Gods, their Parents, and their Children bore
From Ilium's ruin'd Walls to the Ausonian Shore:
Now, like an Oak on some cold Mountain's Brow,
At every Wound they sprout and grow;
The Ax and Sword new Vigour give,
And by their Ruins they revive.
We, like the Stag, the brinded Wolf provoke;
And when Retreat is Victory,
Rush on, tho' sure to die.
When Troy was sack'd, this People came
Thro' Tuscan Seas, and Grecian Flame;
Their Gods, their Parents, and their Children bore
From Ilium's ruin'd Walls to the Ausonian Shore:
Now, like an Oak on some cold Mountain's Brow,
At every Wound they sprout and grow;
The Ax and Sword new Vigour give,
And by their Ruins they revive.
Thus Hercules for matchless Valour fam'd,
With fruitless Blows the fertile Hydra tam'd;
For as one Head the Hero slew,
The Monster spawn'd a-new;
And thus the Dragon's Teeth, when sown,
Were to a Martial Harvest grown.
If to the Seas you trust this happy Race,
They gather Strength, and Pow'r, and Riches from the Seas.
If to the Field their warlike Troops they lead,
They fill their Foes with Awe and Dread:
Their Matrons sing their warlike Feats,
And every Tongue their Fame repeats.
With fruitless Blows the fertile Hydra tam'd;
For as one Head the Hero slew,
The Monster spawn'd a-new;
And thus the Dragon's Teeth, when sown,
Were to a Martial Harvest grown.
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They gather Strength, and Pow'r, and Riches from the Seas.
If to the Field their warlike Troops they lead,
They fill their Foes with Awe and Dread:
Their Matrons sing their warlike Feats,
And every Tongue their Fame repeats.
No more the Herald shall to Carthage bear
The happy Tidings of Success in War:
Farewel to Fortune and Renown,
For all our Hopes are gone;
With Asdrubal my Honour dy'd,
And Carthage perish'd by his Side.
The Roman Youth may march triumphant on,
For with auspicious Smiles the Gods their Drusus crown;
Great Jove still condescends to bless his Arms,
And saves him from impending Harms:
With Conduct far above his Years
The Toils of War and Camps he bears.
The happy Tidings of Success in War:
Farewel to Fortune and Renown,
For all our Hopes are gone;
With Asdrubal my Honour dy'd,
And Carthage perish'd by his Side.
The Roman Youth may march triumphant on,
For with auspicious Smiles the Gods their Drusus crown;
Great Jove still condescends to bless his Arms,
And saves him from impending Harms:
With Conduct far above his Years
The Toils of War and Camps he bears.
ODE V. To Augustus.
Guardian of Rome, from Heroes sprung!
Why must you be abroad so long?
The Senate for your Absence mourns:
Cæsar's unjust till he returns.
Why must you be abroad so long?
The Senate for your Absence mourns:
Cæsar's unjust till he returns.
Ah! quickly come, and with you bring
A brighter Sun, a brighter Spring:
Plenty and Mirth with you appear,
The World looks gay, when you are here.
A brighter Sun, a brighter Spring:
Plenty and Mirth with you appear,
The World looks gay, when you are here.
As a fond Mother for her Son,
When out at Sea, begins her Moan,
Whom the rough Winds and stormy Main
Beyond his promis'd Year detain;
When out at Sea, begins her Moan,
Whom the rough Winds and stormy Main
Beyond his promis'd Year detain;
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For him she wishes, longs and prays,
And full of Hope the Shore surveys:
With the same eager, fond Desires,
His Rome her absent Lord requires.
And full of Hope the Shore surveys:
With the same eager, fond Desires,
His Rome her absent Lord requires.
When Cæsar's here, our Flocks are safe,
Our Fields with Plenty smile and laugh;
No Tempests on the Ocean roar,
No Treachery infests the Shore.
Our Fields with Plenty smile and laugh;
No Tempests on the Ocean roar,
No Treachery infests the Shore.
No Rapes invade the Chaste and Good,
Whilst Vice by Justice is subdu'd;
Paternal Virtues grace our Sons,
And Vengeance every Crime atones.
Whilst Vice by Justice is subdu'd;
Paternal Virtues grace our Sons,
And Vengeance every Crime atones.
Who dreads the Gete, or Parthian Foe,
Or Germans terrible in Show,
Or all the warlike Pow'rs of Spain,
Whilst Cæsar does in Safety reign?
Or Germans terrible in Show,
Or all the warlike Pow'rs of Spain,
Whilst Cæsar does in Safety reign?
Each Roman Swain securely joins
The widow'd Elms, and curling Vines;
There drinks all Day, with Plenty bless'd;
The Gods and Cæsar crown the Feast.
The widow'd Elms, and curling Vines;
There drinks all Day, with Plenty bless'd;
The Gods and Cæsar crown the Feast.
To him our Wine and Vows we pour;
Him with our Lares we adore:
No Greeks with greater Zeal proclaim
Their Hercules, or Castor's Name.
Him with our Lares we adore:
No Greeks with greater Zeal proclaim
Their Hercules, or Castor's Name.
Return, Great Cæsar, and bring home
A lasting Festival to Rome:
Thee, Drunk and Sober, Night and Day,
Thee we invoke, to Thee we pray.
A lasting Festival to Rome:
Thee, Drunk and Sober, Night and Day,
Thee we invoke, to Thee we pray.
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ODE VI. To Apollo.
By Thee, great God! for Lust and Pride,
Fam'd Niobe and Tityos dy'd;
Achilles to thy Valour bow'd,
E'er Troy was by his Arms subdu'd:
Fam'd Niobe and Tityos dy'd;
Achilles to thy Valour bow'd,
E'er Troy was by his Arms subdu'd:
Born of the Goddess of the Sea,
He found no Match in Arms, but Thee;
Troy's Walls oft trembled at his Spear,
And every Trojan Heart with Fear:
He found no Match in Arms, but Thee;
Troy's Walls oft trembled at his Spear,
And every Trojan Heart with Fear:
Yet like a Pine he tumbled down,
Or Cypress by a Storm o'erthrown;
And lay extended on the Plain,
In Phrygian Dust by Phœbus slain:
Or Cypress by a Storm o'erthrown;
And lay extended on the Plain,
In Phrygian Dust by Phœbus slain:
He scorn'd all Arts but open Force,
A holy Cheat, or treacherous Horse;
Nor would by any false Disguise,
Amidst their Mirth, his Foes surprize;
A holy Cheat, or treacherous Horse;
Nor would by any false Disguise,
Amidst their Mirth, his Foes surprize;
But met the Trojans in the Field,
And there without Distinction kill'd:
With Fire and Sword pursu'd them home,
And burnt the Infant in the Womb.
And there without Distinction kill'd:
With Fire and Sword pursu'd them home,
And burnt the Infant in the Womb.
At length to Venus and to Thee,
Jove stoop'd, and fix'd the firm Decree,
Æneas with a better Fate
Should found a greater nobler State.
Jove stoop'd, and fix'd the firm Decree,
Æneas with a better Fate
Should found a greater nobler State.
Sweet Master of the tuneful Nine!
Whose Locks, when wash'd in Xanthus, shine;
To Me and my Apulian Muse,
No Aid, nor Guardian Care refuse.
Whose Locks, when wash'd in Xanthus, shine;
To Me and my Apulian Muse,
No Aid, nor Guardian Care refuse.
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For You to me my Fame impart,
My Genius, and my vocal Art:
The Nymphs and Youths from Nobles sprung,
With Raptures, listen to my Song.
My Genius, and my vocal Art:
The Nymphs and Youths from Nobles sprung,
With Raptures, listen to my Song.
Them chaste Diana guards, and loves
More than the Bow, the Chace, and Groves;
And they shall favour and admire
My suppliant Strains, and tuneful Lyre.
More than the Bow, the Chace, and Groves;
And they shall favour and admire
My suppliant Strains, and tuneful Lyre.
They shall extol Latona's Son,
And praise the bright increasing Moon;
By whom the Months their Courses steer,
And Fruits adorn the smiling Year.
And praise the bright increasing Moon;
By whom the Months their Courses steer,
And Fruits adorn the smiling Year.
The young Imperial Bride shall say;
I sung a solemn Ode to day
By Horace made, a famous Bard;
My Song the Gods with Pleasure heard.
I sung a solemn Ode to day
By Horace made, a famous Bard;
My Song the Gods with Pleasure heard.
ODE VII. To Torquatus.
The Spring dissolves the fleecy Snows;Fresh Green adorns the Fields, fresh Leaves the Boughs:
Nature is deck'd in all her gayest Pride;
The limpid Streams in narrow Chanels glide:
The Nymphs trip naked o'er the Plains,
And with 'em hand in hand, the Graces dance.
The rolling Hours, and shifting Year
Inform you, that your last great Change is near;
Warm Zephyr melts the Winter down,
Then Spring succeeds, and Summer's quickly gone;
Then Autumn, rich in Fruits and Grain,
Rolls regular, till Winter comes again.
The Moon renews her fading Light,
Whilst Man lies down in everlasting Night:
We moulder into Dust and Clay,
Where Tullus, Ancus, and Æneas lay.
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Or give another Day, when this is done?
Be free and chearful; do not spare
Your Wealth, to glut an undeserving Heir:
When to the Shades below you come,
And Minos fixes your eternal Doom,
Not Virtue, nor High Birth shall save,
Nor Eloquence redeem you from the Grave:
Diana try'd to bring, in vain,
Her chaste Hippolytus to Life again;
Though Theseus did to Hell descend,
He could not rescue his unhappy Friend.
ODE VIII. To Censorinus.
If I with Scopas' Art could raiseA God or Man, in Stone or Brass,
Or to Parrhasian Colours give
A human Face, and bid it live;
There's not a Friend, who shares my Soul,
Should want a Statue, or a Bowl,
Or Tripod of a pond'rous Size,
Rich as some antick Grecian Prize:
To You my noblest Gifts I'd send,
To You, my best my dearest Friend:
But no such vulgar Arts as these,
Or Presents, Me or You can please;
In Lyrick Numbers I excel,
This is the Art you love so well:
For You a Poem I design;
You know the Value of each Line.
Not Statues, in which Heroes breathe,
And stand secure from Time and Death,
Nor he, who paints the bloody Field,
With Scenes of Rout and Slaughter fill'd,
Where Hannibal's less haughty Mien,
And Carthage all in Flames is seen,
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Than when the Muses sing his Fame.
If Poetry her Aid denies,
All Merit unrewarded dies.
Had Romulus, from Ilia sprung,
Perish'd, forgotten, and unsung;
Who of his Race could tell the Name,
From whence the Roman Empire came?
The Muses, by superiour Pow'r,
Redeem'd from Pluto's gloomy Shore
Great Æacus, with Glory crown'd,
And through a thousand Isles renown'd.
Whilst Bards can sing no Hero dies,
They lift the Virtuous to the Skies:
Thus Hercules now sits above
Among the Gods, and drinks with Jove;
Fair Leda's Sons are chang'd to Stars,
Propitious to the Mariners;
Bacchus with Vine-Leaves crowns his Brows,
And hears the Suppliant's humble Vows.
ODE IX. To Lollius.
The Songs which to the Roman Lyre,
Whilst Aufidus ran list'ning by,
I tun'd, inspir'd with Sacred Fire,
Believe me, Friend! shall never die.
Whilst Aufidus ran list'ning by,
I tun'd, inspir'd with Sacred Fire,
Believe me, Friend! shall never die.
Though Homer claims the highest Place,
Yet Laurel springs on Pindar's Head.
The World admires Alcæus' Lays,
And grave Stesichorus is read.
Yet Laurel springs on Pindar's Head.
The World admires Alcæus' Lays,
And grave Stesichorus is read.
Time cannot raze Anacreon's Name,
Nor prey upon his youthful Strains;
Sweet Sappho of Love's gentle Flame
In never-dying Verse complains.
Nor prey upon his youthful Strains;
Sweet Sappho of Love's gentle Flame
In never-dying Verse complains.
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Helen was not the only Fair,
Who in her Passion met her Fate,
Fond of her Lover's Face and Hair,
His Grandeur, Equipage and State.
Who in her Passion met her Fate,
Fond of her Lover's Face and Hair,
His Grandeur, Equipage and State.
Brave Sthenelus and Merion's Son
Were not the first renown'd in War;
The Trojans wag'd more Wars than one,
E'er Teucer could a Quiver bear.
Were not the first renown'd in War;
The Trojans wag'd more Wars than one,
E'er Teucer could a Quiver bear.
The ancient Heroes, in their Turn,
Could for their Wives and Country fight,
Before Deiphobus was born,
And valiant Hector saw the Light.
Could for their Wives and Country fight,
Before Deiphobus was born,
And valiant Hector saw the Light.
Older than Agamemnon's Reign
Liv'd Monarchs of a mighty Name;
Of whom no Footsteps now remain,
For want of Bards to sing their Fame.
Liv'd Monarchs of a mighty Name;
Of whom no Footsteps now remain,
For want of Bards to sing their Fame.
Virtue's an idle useless Thing,
When hid in secret, and o'ercast;
Whilst I, my Friend! your Praise can sing,
Your Actions shall for ever last.
When hid in secret, and o'ercast;
Whilst I, my Friend! your Praise can sing,
Your Actions shall for ever last.
Oblivion shall not reach your Fame;
For you by prudent Measures steer;
In every Fortune still the same,
Not flush'd with Joy, nor sunk with Fear.
For you by prudent Measures steer;
In every Fortune still the same,
Not flush'd with Joy, nor sunk with Fear.
You ever Faithful, Just and True,
From Bribes and Avarice are clear;
Oppression stands in awe of You;
You should be Consul every Year.
From Bribes and Avarice are clear;
Oppression stands in awe of You;
You should be Consul every Year.
Vice, when adorn'd with Wealth and State,
With you no Favour is allow'd;
Your Judgment's Right, and sure as Fate;
You triumph o'er the giddy Crowd.
With you no Favour is allow'd;
Your Judgment's Right, and sure as Fate;
You triumph o'er the giddy Crowd.
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He is not number'd with the Bless'd,
To whom the Gods large Stores have giv'n,
But He, who of enough possess'd,
Can wisely use the Gifts of Heav'n:
To whom the Gods large Stores have giv'n,
But He, who of enough possess'd,
Can wisely use the Gifts of Heav'n:
Who Fortune's Frowns with Patience bears,
And the worst Ills the Gods can send;
His Honour to his Life prefers,
To save his Country or his Friend.
And the worst Ills the Gods can send;
His Honour to his Life prefers,
To save his Country or his Friend.
ODE X. Ligurinus.
Lovely Boy! as Venus fair,Cruel Boy! as false as Air;
When with hoary Honours dy'd,
Age shall triumph o'er your Pride,
When your Locks their Beauties lose,
And your Cheeks the fading Rose;
Then, when all your Bloom is gone,
Scarce you'll think your Face your own:
But, with Wonder and Amaze,
Fixing on the faithful Glass,
Thus exclaim; Ah! tell me why,
Love must live, and Beauty die?
Why, when Youth adorn'd my Brow,
Was I not as Kind as now?
Or, since Age has banish'd Scorn,
Why should not my Charms return?
ODE XI. To Phyllis.
Phyllis
, this aged Cask is thine,
Replete with rich Albanian Wine;
Much Parsley in my Garden grows,
And Ivy to adorn your Brows.
Replete with rich Albanian Wine;
Much Parsley in my Garden grows,
And Ivy to adorn your Brows.
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My Rooms with burnish'd Plate shall shine,
My Garlands round your Temples twine;
Fresh Greens upon the Shrine shall lie,
And there the tender Lamb shall die.
My Garlands round your Temples twine;
Fresh Greens upon the Shrine shall lie,
And there the tender Lamb shall die.
See in what Hurry, with what Care,
My Slaves, the solemn Feast prepare!
The Flames with Rolls of Smoak arise,
And blacken with new Clouds the Skies.
My Slaves, the solemn Feast prepare!
The Flames with Rolls of Smoak arise,
And blacken with new Clouds the Skies.
Think what this Mirth, these Transports mean;
The happy Ides come round agen:
This Day the smiling Month divides,
O'er which the Queen of Loves presides.
The happy Ides come round agen:
This Day the smiling Month divides,
O'er which the Queen of Loves presides.
This Day with solemn Joy I crown,
A Day much brighter than my Own;
From whence the dearest Man on Earth,
Mecænas, dates his noble Birth.
A Day much brighter than my Own;
From whence the dearest Man on Earth,
Mecænas, dates his noble Birth.
But you with fond Desire pursue
A Youth, too Great, too Rich for you;
Who by superiour Charms subdu'd,
Doats on a Fortune and a Prude.
A Youth, too Great, too Rich for you;
Who by superiour Charms subdu'd,
Doats on a Fortune and a Prude.
Let the rash Youth, who dar'd to try
The winged Horse, and soar'd too high,
And Phaëthon consum'd with Fire,
Timely forewarn you to aspire.
The winged Horse, and soar'd too high,
And Phaëthon consum'd with Fire,
Timely forewarn you to aspire.
Let not Ambition soar too high,
But let your Hopes with Sense comply;
By Rules of just Decorum move;
Equality's the Soul of Love.
But let your Hopes with Sense comply;
By Rules of just Decorum move;
Equality's the Soul of Love.
You are my only Joy, for you
I bid all other Nymphs, adieu:
Come, ease my Soul with Musick's Charms,
Musick the sharpest Grief disarms.
I bid all other Nymphs, adieu:
Come, ease my Soul with Musick's Charms,
Musick the sharpest Grief disarms.
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ODE XII. To Virgil.
Zephyr
, Companion of the Spring,
Now smooths the Seas, and swells the Sail;
As o'er the Meads he spreads his Wing,
The Snows dissolve at every Gale.
Now smooths the Seas, and swells the Sail;
As o'er the Meads he spreads his Wing,
The Snows dissolve at every Gale.
Progne, a poor unhappy Name,
Begins to build her Nest, and sing
How she reveng'd a guilty Flame,
And punish'd an incestuous King.
Begins to build her Nest, and sing
How she reveng'd a guilty Flame,
And punish'd an incestuous King.
Their tender Flocks the Shepherds keep,
And tune the Pipe to rural Strains;
They sing the God who guards their Sheep,
The God who o'er Arcadia reigns.
And tune the Pipe to rural Strains;
They sing the God who guards their Sheep,
The God who o'er Arcadia reigns.
Come, leave the Noble, Rich, and Gay,
The Season's hot, and calls for Wine:
Bring your Perfumes, and come away,
A Hogshead, on these Terms, is thine.
The Season's hot, and calls for Wine:
Bring your Perfumes, and come away,
A Hogshead, on these Terms, is thine.
Your little Box of Odours buys
A certain Remedy for Care;
You know the Cellar where it lies,
'Twill quicken Hope, and kill Despair.
A certain Remedy for Care;
You know the Cellar where it lies,
'Twill quicken Hope, and kill Despair.
Come, with the Purchase in your Hand,
The Price is small, the Bargain great:
You know I boast no Wealth nor Land,
How then can I afford to treat?
The Price is small, the Bargain great:
You know I boast no Wealth nor Land,
How then can I afford to treat?
Fly, and leave Sorrow far behind,
Consider Death is at your Feet:
With Mirth and Wine unbend your Mind;
A Frolick, if well tim'd, is sweet.
Consider Death is at your Feet:
With Mirth and Wine unbend your Mind;
A Frolick, if well tim'd, is sweet.
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ODE XIII. To Lyce.
Lyce
, at length my Pray'rs prevail,
And you grow old, decay'd and stale;
Yet still to Youth and Love pretend,
And drink, and wanton without End.
And you grow old, decay'd and stale;
Yet still to Youth and Love pretend,
And drink, and wanton without End.
Your Voice is crack'd and cannot charm,
Or keep a drunken Lover warm;
For Love takes wing and seeks the Young,
The blooming Cheek, and silver Tongue.
Or keep a drunken Lover warm;
For Love takes wing and seeks the Young,
The blooming Cheek, and silver Tongue.
He basks in brighter, warmer Eyes,
Your fading wither'd Beauty flies,
Your yellow Teeth, and wrinkled Brow,
Where Time has shed his hoary Snow.
Your fading wither'd Beauty flies,
Your yellow Teeth, and wrinkled Brow,
Where Time has shed his hoary Snow.
Though in rich Gems, and Silks you dress,
And study all the Arts to please;
The faithful Annals will bely
Your poor affected Gallantry.
And study all the Arts to please;
The faithful Annals will bely
Your poor affected Gallantry.
Where is that Bloom, that Beauty gone,
That Mien, which made all Hearts your own?
That Grace, that did my Soul betray,
And stole me from myself away?
That Mien, which made all Hearts your own?
That Grace, that did my Soul betray,
And stole me from myself away?
No Nymph, but Cynara, could shew
A Face, a Shape, an Air like you;
But Cynara, in all her Pride
Of Beauty, and of Conquest, dy'd:
A Face, a Shape, an Air like you;
But Cynara, in all her Pride
Of Beauty, and of Conquest, dy'd:
You, by Old Age, the Fates beguile;
The laughing Youths look on and smile,
To see the Torch in Smoak expire,
That once set every Breast on Fire.
The laughing Youths look on and smile,
To see the Torch in Smoak expire,
That once set every Breast on Fire.
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ODE XIV. To Augustus.
Can sounding Titles, or can solemn Days
Secure the never-dying Praise?
How shall the State preserve thy Fame,
And eternize thy high Renown,
Thou greatest Prince, and brightest Name,
That ever rival'd the less glorious Sun?
The distant Alps have felt thy Pow'r in War,
And Lands that ne'er till now a Roman Yoke could bear.
Secure the never-dying Praise?
How shall the State preserve thy Fame,
And eternize thy high Renown,
Thou greatest Prince, and brightest Name,
That ever rival'd the less glorious Sun?
The distant Alps have felt thy Pow'r in War,
And Lands that ne'er till now a Roman Yoke could bear.
Young Drusus did thy conqu'ring Squadrons lead,
And fill'd the Savage World with Dread:
How many Fields and Towns he won?
Whilst the high Alps thy Thunders shook,
Tiberius drove as bravely on;
Through Foes untam'd the Victor broke:
To him in Chains the vanquish'd Rhæti bow'd,
Whose white discolour'd Hills were stain'd with native Blood.
And fill'd the Savage World with Dread:
How many Fields and Towns he won?
Whilst the high Alps thy Thunders shook,
Tiberius drove as bravely on;
Through Foes untam'd the Victor broke:
To him in Chains the vanquish'd Rhæti bow'd,
Whose white discolour'd Hills were stain'd with native Blood.
Like Mars, the Conqueror in Arms appear'd;
No Death he shunn'd, no Danger fear'd:
So much his Soul his Arms out-flies,
Destruction hardly could keep pace;
Thus when the Pleiades arise,
The Tempest scours along the Seas.
The Troops gave way where'er young Cæsar rod,
Whilst on the flying Crowd, and slaughter'd Heaps he trod.
No Death he shunn'd, no Danger fear'd:
So much his Soul his Arms out-flies,
Destruction hardly could keep pace;
Thus when the Pleiades arise,
The Tempest scours along the Seas.
The Troops gave way where'er young Cæsar rod,
Whilst on the flying Crowd, and slaughter'd Heaps he trod.
As Ausidus, when rais'd with sudden Rains,
Rolls swiftly thro' Apulia's Plains,
And proudly threatens, as he flows,
The Banks and subject Meads to drown;
So Claudius rushes on his Foes,
And mows the Iron Harvest down:
Thousands and Thousands fall on ev'ry Side;
Himself is all the War, whilst not a Roman dy'd.
Rolls swiftly thro' Apulia's Plains,
And proudly threatens, as he flows,
The Banks and subject Meads to drown;
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And mows the Iron Harvest down:
Thousands and Thousands fall on ev'ry Side;
Himself is all the War, whilst not a Roman dy'd.
But with your Conduct and your Troops he fought,
You to the Field your Omens brought;
For on the same successful Day,
As thrice three Years their Course had run,
Young Cæsar bore the Prize away,
And Fortune did her Fav'rite crown,
When captive Alexandria's open Port
Smooth'd your auspicious Way to Cleopatra's Court.
You to the Field your Omens brought;
For on the same successful Day,
As thrice three Years their Course had run,
Young Cæsar bore the Prize away,
And Fortune did her Fav'rite crown,
When captive Alexandria's open Port
Smooth'd your auspicious Way to Cleopatra's Court.
The warlike Thracian, never tam'd till now,
And Scythian to thy Arms shall bow;
Tigris and Ister own thy Pow'r,
And Nile who hides his watry Head;
Thy Terrors reach the Indian Shore,
Thy Empire stretches to the Mede:
The World's wide Confines with a suppliant Knee
Stoop to Imperial Rome, Imperial Rome to thee.
And Scythian to thy Arms shall bow;
Tigris and Ister own thy Pow'r,
And Nile who hides his watry Head;
Thy Terrors reach the Indian Shore,
Thy Empire stretches to the Mede:
The World's wide Confines with a suppliant Knee
Stoop to Imperial Rome, Imperial Rome to thee.
The British Seas grow calm beneath thy Sway,
Where rolling Monsters on the Billows play:
The haughty Gaul, untaught to fear,
With those of Germany and Spain,
Thy gentle Yoke with Patience bear,
With Pleasure wear the Roman Chain:
All drop their Arms, obsequious to thy Nod,
And where they felt the Victor, now confess the God.
Where rolling Monsters on the Billows play:
The haughty Gaul, untaught to fear,
With those of Germany and Spain,
Thy gentle Yoke with Patience bear,
With Pleasure wear the Roman Chain:
All drop their Arms, obsequious to thy Nod,
And where they felt the Victor, now confess the God.
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ODE XV.
When to some lofty Theme I would aspire,
Apollo chid me, and unstrung my Lyre;
No more I launch into the Depths of Verse,
Nor Fights nor conquer'd Towns rehearse.
Cæsar, thy happy Reign
Has brought fair Plenty back again;
Once more the Ensigns of our State adorn
The sacred Shrine of Jove, from Parthian Temples torn.
Apollo chid me, and unstrung my Lyre;
No more I launch into the Depths of Verse,
Nor Fights nor conquer'd Towns rehearse.
Cæsar, thy happy Reign
Has brought fair Plenty back again;
Once more the Ensigns of our State adorn
The sacred Shrine of Jove, from Parthian Temples torn.
Janus has shut his brazen Portals close,
Whilst Justice triumphs o'er her guilty Foes:
No Crimes infest the Age, but conscious Vice
From the avenging Goddess flies;
Whilst all the Arts revive,
And to the State new Vigour give:
These did the Latian Name and Praise convey
From bright Aurora's Dawn to the last Stage of Day.
Whilst Justice triumphs o'er her guilty Foes:
No Crimes infest the Age, but conscious Vice
From the avenging Goddess flies;
Whilst all the Arts revive,
And to the State new Vigour give:
These did the Latian Name and Praise convey
From bright Aurora's Dawn to the last Stage of Day.
Whilst Cæsar is the Lord of humane Race,
No Broils shall interrupt our Halcyon Days;
No Civil Strife the hostile Sword unsheath,
Or shed abroad her poys'nous Breath.
The Gete, and sunny Moor,
And they who till the Danube's Shore,
Shall all submit to Rome's imperial Sway;
The Indian and the Mede the Julian Laws obey.
No Broils shall interrupt our Halcyon Days;
No Civil Strife the hostile Sword unsheath,
Or shed abroad her poys'nous Breath.
The Gete, and sunny Moor,
And they who till the Danube's Shore,
Shall all submit to Rome's imperial Sway;
The Indian and the Mede the Julian Laws obey.
Whether the Day be sacred or prophane,
We, and our Matrons, and our youthful Train,
Will crowd the Altars, with our Presents crown'd,
And put our Vows and Goblets round;
There tune the Pipe, and sing
The mighty Names from whence we spring;
Venus, Anchises, and the Trojan Race,
Who gave our noblest Blood, shall take our loudest Praise.
We, and our Matrons, and our youthful Train,
Will crowd the Altars, with our Presents crown'd,
And put our Vows and Goblets round;
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The mighty Names from whence we spring;
Venus, Anchises, and the Trojan Race,
Who gave our noblest Blood, shall take our loudest Praise.
The End of the Fourth Book of ODES.
| The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719) | |