A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition |
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| THE BOOK OF THE EPODES of HORACE. |
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
415
THE BOOK OF THE EPODES of HORACE.
Epode I. To Mæcenas.
While you, Mæcenas, dearest Friend,Would Cæsar's Person with your own defend:
And Antony's high-tower'd Fleet,
With light, Liburnian Gallies fearless meet,
417
Whose every Joy of Life depends on You?
With Thee, 'tis Happiness to live,
And Life, without Thee, can no Pleasure give.
Shall I th'unkind Command obey,
And idly waste my joyless Hours away;
Or, as becomes the Brave, embrace
The glorious Toil, and spurn the Thoughts of Peace?
I will; and over Alpine Snow,
Or savage Caucasus intrepid go;
Or follow, with undaunted Breast,
Thy dreadful Warfare to the farthest West.
You ask, what Aid can I afford,
A puny Warrior; Novice to the Sword;
Absence, my Lord, increases Fear;
The Danger lessens when the Friend is near;
Thus, if the Mother-Bird forsake
Her unfledg'd Young, She dreads the gliding Snake,
With deeper Agonies afraid,
Not that her Presence could afford them Aid.
419
To purchase your Esteem, this dread Campaign,
Not that my Plows, with heavier Toil,
Or with a larger Team, may turn my Soil;
Not that my Flocks, when Sirius reigns,
May browze the Verdure of Lucania's Plains;
Not that my Villa shall extend
To where the Walls of Tusculum ascend.
Thy Bounty largely hath supplied,
Even with a lavish Hand, my utmost Pride;
Nor will I meanly wish for more,
Tasteless in Earth to hide the sordid Store,
Like an old Miser in the Play,
Or like a Rake to squander it away.
421
Epode II. The Praises of a Country-Life.
Like the first Mortals blest is He,From Debts, and Mortgages, and Business free,
With his own Team who plows the Soil,
Which grateful once confess'd his Father's Toil.
The Sounds of War nor break his Sleep,
Nor the rough Storm that harrows up the Deep;
He shuns the Courtier's haughty Doors,
And the loud Science of the Bar abjures.
Sometimes his marriageable Vines
Around the lofty Bridegroom Elm he twines,
Or lops the vagrant Boughs away,
Ingrafting better as the old decay;
423
His lowing Herd safe-wandering as they graze;
Or careful stores the flowing Gold
Prest from the Hive, or sheers his tender Fold;
Or when with various Fruits o'erspread
The mellow Autumn lifts his beauteous Head,
His grafted Pears or Grapes that vye
With the rich Purple of the Tyrian Dye,
Grateful he gathers, and repays
His Guardian Gods on their own festal Days.
Sometimes beneath an ancient Shade,
Or careless on the matted Grass he's laid,
While glide the Mountain Streams along,
And Birds in Forests chaunt their plaintive Song;
Murmuring the lucid Fountain flows,
And with its Murmurs courts him to Repose.
But when the Rain and Snows appear,
And wintry Jove loud thunders o'er the Year,
With Hounds he drives, into the Toils,
The foaming Boar, and triumphs in his Spoils:
425
His Nets, and with delusive Baits betrays;
Or artful sets the springing Snare,
To catch the stranger Crane, or timorous Hare.
Thus happy, who would stoop to prove
The Pains, the Wrongs, and Injuries of Love?
But if a chaste and virtuous Wife
Assist him in the tender Cares of Life,
Of Sun-burnt Charms, but honest Fame
(Such as the Sabine, or Apulian Dame)
If, ere her wearied Spouse return,
The sacred Fire with good old Timber burn;
Or if she milk her swelling Kine,
Or in their Folds his happy Flocks confine;
If unbought Dainties crown their Feast,
And luscious Wines from this Year's Vintage prest;
No more should curious Oysters please,
Or Fish, the Luxury of foreign Seas,
(If Eastern Tempests, thundering o'er
The wintry Wave, shall drive them to our Shore)
Nor Wild-Fowl of delicious Taste,
From distant Climates brought to crown the Feast,
427
As Olives gather'd from their unctuous Tree,
Or Herbs, that love the flowery Field,
And chearful Health with pure Digestion yield;
Or Fatling, on the festal Day,
Or Kid just rescued from some Beast of Prey.
Amid the Feast how joys he to behold
His well-fed Flocks home hasting to their Fold!
Or see his labour'd Oxen bow
Their languid Necks, and drag th'inverted Plow,
At Night his numerous Slaves to view
Round his domestic Gods their Mirth pursue!
The Usurer spoke; determin'd to begin
A Country-Life, he calls his Money in,
But, ere the Moon was in her Wane,
The Wretch had put it out to Use again.
429
Epode III. To Mæcenas.
If Parricide ever, in Horrours most dire,
With impious right Hand shall strangle his Sire,
On Garlick, than Hemlock more rank, let Him feed:
O Stomachs of Mowers to digest such a Weed!
What Poison is this in my Bosom so glowing?
Have I swallow'd the Gore of a Viper unknowing?
Canidia perhaps hath handled the Feast,
And with Witchery hellish the Banquet hath drest.
With this did Medea her Lover besmear,
Young Jason, beyond all his Argonauts fair;
The Stench was so strong, that it tam'd to the Yoke
The Brass-footed Bulls breathing Fire and Smoke.
On the Gown of Creüsa its Juices She shed,
Then on her wing'd Chariot in Triumph she fled.
Not such the strong Vapour, that burns up the Plains,
When the Dogstar in Anger triumphantly reigns;
Not the Shirt of Alcides, that well-labour'd Soldier,
With Flames more envenom'd burn'd into his Shoulder.
With impious right Hand shall strangle his Sire,
On Garlick, than Hemlock more rank, let Him feed:
O Stomachs of Mowers to digest such a Weed!
What Poison is this in my Bosom so glowing?
Have I swallow'd the Gore of a Viper unknowing?
Canidia perhaps hath handled the Feast,
And with Witchery hellish the Banquet hath drest.
With this did Medea her Lover besmear,
Young Jason, beyond all his Argonauts fair;
The Stench was so strong, that it tam'd to the Yoke
The Brass-footed Bulls breathing Fire and Smoke.
On the Gown of Creüsa its Juices She shed,
Then on her wing'd Chariot in Triumph she fled.
Not such the strong Vapour, that burns up the Plains,
When the Dogstar in Anger triumphantly reigns;
431
With Flames more envenom'd burn'd into his Shoulder.
May the Girl of your Heart, if ever You taste,
Facetious Mæcenas, so baleful a Feast,
Her Hand o'er your Kisses, Oh, may She bespread,
And lie afar off on the Stock of the Bed.
Facetious Mæcenas, so baleful a Feast,
Her Hand o'er your Kisses, Oh, may She bespread,
And lie afar off on the Stock of the Bed.
Epode IV.
[As Wolves and Lambs by Nature disagree]
As Wolves and Lambs by Nature disagree,So is my Hatred firm to Thee;
Thou Wretch, whose Back with flagrant Whips is torn;
Whose Legs with galling Fetters worn;
433
A Scoundrel ever is the same.
While You your twice three Ells of Gown display,
And stalk along the Sacred Way,
Observe the free-born Indignation rise,
Mark! how they turn away their Eyes;
This Wretch, they cry, with public Lashing flay'd,
'Till even the Beadle loath'd his Trade,
Now plows his thousand Acres of Demaine,
And wears the Pavement with his Train;
Now on the foremost Benches sits, in spite
Of Otho, an illustrious Knight.
435
Shall Rome such mighty Fleets maintain,
And shall those Fleets, that dreadful rule the Sea,
A Pirate and a Slave obey?
Epode V: On the Witch Canidia.
But oh, ye Gods, whose awful Sway
Heaven, Earth, and human Kind obey,
What can this hideous Noise intend,
On me what ghastly Looks they bend?
Heaven, Earth, and human Kind obey,
What can this hideous Noise intend,
On me what ghastly Looks they bend?
If ever chaste Lucina heard
Thy Vows in Hour of Birth prefer'd;
Oh! by this Robe's impurpled Train,
Its purple Pride, alas! how vain!
By the unerring Wrath of Jove,
Unerring shall his Vengeance prove;
Why like a Step-Dame do you look,
Or Tygress fell by Hunter struck?
Thy Vows in Hour of Birth prefer'd;
Oh! by this Robe's impurpled Train,
Its purple Pride, alas! how vain!
By the unerring Wrath of Jove,
Unerring shall his Vengeance prove;
437
Or Tygress fell by Hunter struck?
Thus, while his sacred Robes they tear,
The trembling Boy prefers his Prayer;
Then naked stands, with Charms to move
An impious Thracian Witch to Love.
Canidia, crown'd with writhing Snakes
Dishevell'd, thus the Silence breaks,
‘Now the magic Fire prepare,
‘And from Graves uprooted tear
‘Trees, whose Horrours gloomy spread
‘Round the Mansions of the Dead;
‘Bring the Eggs, and Plumage foul
‘Of a midnight shrieking Owl;
‘Be they well besmear'd with Blood
‘Of the blackest-venom'd Toad;
‘Bring the choicest Drugs of Spain,
‘Produce of the poisonous Plain;
‘Then into the Charm be thrown,
‘Snatch'd from famish'd Bitch, a Bone;
‘Burn them all with magic Flame,
‘Kindled first by Colchian Dame.’
Now Sagana, around the Cell
Sprinkled her Waters black from Hell;
Fierce as a Porcupine, or Boar,
In frightful Wreaths her Hair she wore.
The trembling Boy prefers his Prayer;
Then naked stands, with Charms to move
An impious Thracian Witch to Love.
Canidia, crown'd with writhing Snakes
Dishevell'd, thus the Silence breaks,
‘Now the magic Fire prepare,
‘And from Graves uprooted tear
‘Trees, whose Horrours gloomy spread
‘Round the Mansions of the Dead;
‘Bring the Eggs, and Plumage foul
‘Of a midnight shrieking Owl;
‘Be they well besmear'd with Blood
‘Of the blackest-venom'd Toad;
‘Bring the choicest Drugs of Spain,
‘Produce of the poisonous Plain;
‘Then into the Charm be thrown,
‘Snatch'd from famish'd Bitch, a Bone;
‘Burn them all with magic Flame,
‘Kindled first by Colchian Dame.’
Now Sagana, around the Cell
Sprinkled her Waters black from Hell;
439
In frightful Wreaths her Hair she wore.
Veia, who never knew Remorse,
Uplifts the Spade with feeble Force,
And breathless with the horrid Toil,
Deep-groaning breaks the guilty Soil,
Turns out the Earth, and digs a Grave
In which the Boy (as o'er the Wave
A lusty Swimmer lifts his Head)
Chin-deep sinks downward to the Dead,
O'er Dainties, chang'd twice thrice a-day,
Slowly to gaze his Life away,
That the foul Hags an amorous Dose
Of his parch'd Marrow may compose,
His Marrow, and his Liver dry'd,
The Seat where wanton Thoughts reside,
When fix'd upon his Food in vain,
His Eye-balls pin'd away with Pain.
Uplifts the Spade with feeble Force,
And breathless with the horrid Toil,
Deep-groaning breaks the guilty Soil,
Turns out the Earth, and digs a Grave
In which the Boy (as o'er the Wave
A lusty Swimmer lifts his Head)
Chin-deep sinks downward to the Dead,
O'er Dainties, chang'd twice thrice a-day,
Slowly to gaze his Life away,
That the foul Hags an amorous Dose
Of his parch'd Marrow may compose,
His Marrow, and his Liver dry'd,
The Seat where wanton Thoughts reside,
When fix'd upon his Food in vain,
His Eye-balls pin'd away with Pain.
Naples, for Idleness renown'd,
And all the Villages around,
Believe that Folia shar'd their Rites,
She who in monstrous Lusts delights,
Whose Voice the Stars from Heaven can tear,
And charm bright Luna from her Sphere.
And all the Villages around,
Believe that Folia shar'd their Rites,
She who in monstrous Lusts delights,
Whose Voice the Stars from Heaven can tear,
And charm bright Luna from her Sphere.
441
Here, with black Tooth, and livid Jaws,
Her unpar'd Thumbs Canidia gnaws,
And into hideous Accents broke,
In Sounds, how direful! thus she spoke,
Her unpar'd Thumbs Canidia gnaws,
And into hideous Accents broke,
In Sounds, how direful! thus she spoke,
Ye Powers of Darkness and of Hell,
Propitious to the magic Spell,
Who rule in Silence o'er the Night,
While we perform the mystic Rite,
Be present now, your Horrours shed,
In hallow'd Vengeance, on his Head.
Propitious to the magic Spell,
Who rule in Silence o'er the Night,
While we perform the mystic Rite,
Be present now, your Horrours shed,
In hallow'd Vengeance, on his Head.
Beneath the Forest's gloomy Shade,
While Beasts in Slumbers sweet are laid,
Give me the Lecher, old and lewd,
By barking Village-Curs pursued,
Expos'd to Laughter, let him shine
In Essence—ah! that once was mine.
What! do my strongest Potions fail,
Or than Medea's less prevail?
For the fair Harlot, proud of Heart
Deep felt the Vengeance of her Art;
Her Gown, with powerful Poisons dyed,
In Flames enwrap'd the guilty Bride.
But every Root and Herb I know,
And on what steepy Depths they grow,
And yet, with Essence round him shed,
He sleeps in some bold Harlot's Bed,
Or walks at large, nor thinks of me,
By some more mighty Witch set free.
While Beasts in Slumbers sweet are laid,
Give me the Lecher, old and lewd,
By barking Village-Curs pursued,
Expos'd to Laughter, let him shine
In Essence—ah! that once was mine.
What! do my strongest Potions fail,
Or than Medea's less prevail?
For the fair Harlot, proud of Heart
Deep felt the Vengeance of her Art;
Her Gown, with powerful Poisons dyed,
In Flames enwrap'd the guilty Bride.
But every Root and Herb I know,
And on what steepy Depths they grow,
And yet, with Essence round him shed,
He sleeps in some bold Harlot's Bed,
443
By some more mighty Witch set free.
But soon the Wretch my Wrath shall prove,
By Spells unwonted taught to love,
Nor shall even Marsian Charms have Power,
Thy Peace, O Varus, to restore.
I'll fill, to bend thy haughty Soul,
With stronger Drugs a larger Bowl.
Sooner the Seas to Heaven shall rise,
And Earth spring upwards to the Skies,
Than you not burn in fierce Desire,
As melts this Pitch in smoaky Fire.
By Spells unwonted taught to love,
Nor shall even Marsian Charms have Power,
Thy Peace, O Varus, to restore.
I'll fill, to bend thy haughty Soul,
With stronger Drugs a larger Bowl.
Sooner the Seas to Heaven shall rise,
And Earth spring upwards to the Skies,
Than you not burn in fierce Desire,
As melts this Pitch in smoaky Fire.
The Boy, with lenient Words no more,
Now strives their Pity to implore;
With Rage yet doubtful what to speak,
Forth from his Lips these Curses break—
Your Spells may Right and Wrong remove,
But ne'er shall change the Wrath of Jove,
For while I curse the direful Deed,
In vain shall all your Victims bleed.
Soon as this mortal Spirit dies,
A midnight Fury will I rise:
Then shall my Ghost, though form'd of Air,
Your Cheeks with crooked Talons tear,
Unceasing on your Entrails prey,
And fright the Thoughts of Sleep away;
Such Horrours shall the Guilty know,
Such is the Power of Gods below.
Now strives their Pity to implore;
With Rage yet doubtful what to speak,
Forth from his Lips these Curses break—
Your Spells may Right and Wrong remove,
But ne'er shall change the Wrath of Jove,
For while I curse the direful Deed,
In vain shall all your Victims bleed.
445
A midnight Fury will I rise:
Then shall my Ghost, though form'd of Air,
Your Cheeks with crooked Talons tear,
Unceasing on your Entrails prey,
And fright the Thoughts of Sleep away;
Such Horrours shall the Guilty know,
Such is the Power of Gods below.
Ye filthy Hags, with Showers of Stones
The vengeful Croud shall crush your Bones;
Then Beasts of Prey, and Birds of Air,
Shall your unburied Members tear,
And, while they weep their favourite Boy,
My Parents shall the vengeful Sight enjoy.
The vengeful Croud shall crush your Bones;
Then Beasts of Prey, and Birds of Air,
Shall your unburied Members tear,
And, while they weep their favourite Boy,
My Parents shall the vengeful Sight enjoy.
Epode VI. To Cassius Severus.
Why dost Thou, fearful to provoke
The Wolf, attack offenceless Folk?
Turn hither, if you dare, your Spite,
And bark at Me, prepar'd to bite.
For like a Hound or Mastiff keen,
That guards the Shepherd's flocky Green,
With Ears erect, and eager Haste,
Through Snows I drive each ravening Beast;
But You, when with your hideous Yelling
You fill the Grove, at Crusts are smelling.
The Wolf, attack offenceless Folk?
Turn hither, if you dare, your Spite,
And bark at Me, prepar'd to bite.
447
That guards the Shepherd's flocky Green,
With Ears erect, and eager Haste,
Through Snows I drive each ravening Beast;
But You, when with your hideous Yelling
You fill the Grove, at Crusts are smelling.
Beware, beware; for, sharp as Spurs,
I lift my Horns to butt at Curs;
Fierce as Archilochus I glow;
Like Hipponax a deadly Foe.
If any Mungrel shall assail
My Character with Tooth and Nail;
What! like a Truant Boy, shall I
Do nothing in Revenge—but cry?
I lift my Horns to butt at Curs;
Fierce as Archilochus I glow;
Like Hipponax a deadly Foe.
If any Mungrel shall assail
My Character with Tooth and Nail;
What! like a Truant Boy, shall I
Do nothing in Revenge—but cry?
Epode VII. To the Roman People.
Whither, Oh! whither do Ye madly run,
The Sword unsheath'd and impious War begun?
Has then too little of the Latian Blood
Been pour'd on Earth, or mix'd with Neptune's Flood?
'Tis not that Romans with avenging Flame
Might burn the Rival of the Roman Name,
Or Britons, yet unbroken to our War,
In Chains should follow our triumphal Car,
But that the Parthian should his Vows enjoy,
And Rome, with impious Hand, Herself destroy.
The Sword unsheath'd and impious War begun?
Has then too little of the Latian Blood
Been pour'd on Earth, or mix'd with Neptune's Flood?
449
Might burn the Rival of the Roman Name,
Or Britons, yet unbroken to our War,
In Chains should follow our triumphal Car,
But that the Parthian should his Vows enjoy,
And Rome, with impious Hand, Herself destroy.
The Rage of Wolves and Lions is confin'd;
They never prey but on a different Kind.
Answer, from Madness rise these Horrours dire?
Does angry Fate, or Guilt your Souls inspire?
Silent they stand; with stupid Wonder gaze,
While the pale Cheek their inward Guilt betrays.
'Tis so—The Fates have cruelly decreed,
That Rome for ancient Fratricide must bleed;
The Brother's Blood, which stain'd our rising Walls,
On his Descendants, loud, for Vengeance calls.
They never prey but on a different Kind.
Answer, from Madness rise these Horrours dire?
Does angry Fate, or Guilt your Souls inspire?
Silent they stand; with stupid Wonder gaze,
While the pale Cheek their inward Guilt betrays.
'Tis so—The Fates have cruelly decreed,
That Rome for ancient Fratricide must bleed;
The Brother's Blood, which stain'd our rising Walls,
On his Descendants, loud, for Vengeance calls.
451
Epode IX. To Mæcenas.
When shall we quaff, my Lord, the flowing Wine,
Reserv'd for pious Feasts, and Joys divine?
Cæsar with Conquest comes, and gracious Jove,
Who gave that Conquest, shall our Joys approve:
Then bid the Breath of Harmony inspire
The Doric Flute, and wake the Phrygian Lyre;
As late when the Neptunian Youth, who spurn'd
A mortal Birth, beheld his Navy burn'd,
And fled affrighted through his Father's Waves,
With his perfidious Host; his Host of Slaves,
Freed from those Chains, with which his Rage design'd,
Impious! the freeborn Sons of Rome to bind.
Reserv'd for pious Feasts, and Joys divine?
Cæsar with Conquest comes, and gracious Jove,
Who gave that Conquest, shall our Joys approve:
Then bid the Breath of Harmony inspire
The Doric Flute, and wake the Phrygian Lyre;
As late when the Neptunian Youth, who spurn'd
A mortal Birth, beheld his Navy burn'd,
And fled affrighted through his Father's Waves,
With his perfidious Host; his Host of Slaves,
Freed from those Chains, with which his Rage design'd,
Impious! the freeborn Sons of Rome to bind.
453
The Roman Troops (Oh! be the Tale denied
By future Times) enslav'd to Woman's Pride,
And to a wither'd Eunuch's Will severe
Basely subdued, the Toils of War could bear.
Amidst the Roman Eagles Sol survey'd,
O Shame! th'Ægyptian Canopy display'd;
When twice a thousand Gauls aloud proclaim,
Indignant at the Sight, great Cæsar's Name,
And a brave Fleet, by just Resentment led,
Turn'd their broad Prows, and to our Havens fled.
By future Times) enslav'd to Woman's Pride,
And to a wither'd Eunuch's Will severe
Basely subdued, the Toils of War could bear.
Amidst the Roman Eagles Sol survey'd,
O Shame! th'Ægyptian Canopy display'd;
When twice a thousand Gauls aloud proclaim,
Indignant at the Sight, great Cæsar's Name,
And a brave Fleet, by just Resentment led,
Turn'd their broad Prows, and to our Havens fled.
Come, God of Triumphs, bring the golden Car,
The untam'd Heifers, and the Spoils of War,
For He, whose Virtue rais'd his awful Tomb
O'er ruin'd Carthage, ne'er return'd to Rome
So great and glorious, nor could Lybia's Field
To Thee, O Triumph, such a Leader yield.
The untam'd Heifers, and the Spoils of War,
For He, whose Virtue rais'd his awful Tomb
O'er ruin'd Carthage, ne'er return'd to Rome
So great and glorious, nor could Lybia's Field
To Thee, O Triumph, such a Leader yield.
455
Pursued by Land and Sea, the vanquish'd Foe
Hath chang'd his Purple for the Garb of Woe;
With Winds, no more his own; with shatter'd Fleet,
He seeks the far-fam'd hundred Towns of Crete;
To tempest-beaten Lybia speeds his Way,
Or drives a Vagrant through th'uncertain Sea.
Hath chang'd his Purple for the Garb of Woe;
With Winds, no more his own; with shatter'd Fleet,
He seeks the far-fam'd hundred Towns of Crete;
To tempest-beaten Lybia speeds his Way,
Or drives a Vagrant through th'uncertain Sea.
Boy, bring us larger Bowls, and fill them round
With Chian, or the Lesbian Vintage crown'd,
Or rich Cæcubian, which may best restrain
These sickening Qualms, and fortify the Brain.
Th'inspiring Juice shall the gay Banquet warm,
Nor Cæsar's Danger shall our Fears alarm.
With Chian, or the Lesbian Vintage crown'd,
Or rich Cæcubian, which may best restrain
These sickening Qualms, and fortify the Brain.
Th'inspiring Juice shall the gay Banquet warm,
Nor Cæsar's Danger shall our Fears alarm.
Epode X. To Mævius.
When filthy Mævius hoists the spreading Sail,Each luckless Omen shall prevail.
Ye Southern Winds, invert the foamy Tides,
And bang his labouring Vessel's Sides;
Let Eurus rouse the Main with blackening Roar,
Crack every Cable, every Oar.
457
As when they break the Mountain-Woods,
And while Orion sets in watry Light,
Let not a Star shine through the Night.
Mayst Thou no kinder Winds, O Mævius, meet,
Than the victorious Grecian Fleet,
When Pallas turn'd her Rage from ruin'd Troy,
The impious Ajax to destroy.
With Streams of Sweat the toiling Sailor glows,
Thy Face a muddy Paleness shows,
Nor shall thy vile unmanly Wailings move
The Pity of avenging Jove:
While watry Winds the bellowing Ocean shake,
I see thy luckless Vessel break,
But if thy Carcass reach the winding Shore,
And Birds the pamper'd Prey devour,
A Lamb and lustful Goat shall thank the Storm,
And I the Sacrifice perform.
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Epode XI. To Pettius.
Since cruel Love, O Pettius, pierc'd my Heart,
How have I lost my once-lov'd Lyric Art?
Thrice have the Woods their leafy Honours mourn'd,
Since for Inachia's Beauties Horace burn'd.
How was I then (for I confess my Shame)
Of every idle Tale the laughing Theme?
Oh! that I ne'er had known the jovial Feast,
Where the deep Sigh, that rends the labouring Breast,
Where Languor, and a gentle Silence shows,
To every curious Eye, the Lover's Woes.
How have I lost my once-lov'd Lyric Art?
Thrice have the Woods their leafy Honours mourn'd,
Since for Inachia's Beauties Horace burn'd.
How was I then (for I confess my Shame)
Of every idle Tale the laughing Theme?
Oh! that I ne'er had known the jovial Feast,
Where the deep Sigh, that rends the labouring Breast,
Where Languor, and a gentle Silence shows,
To every curious Eye, the Lover's Woes.
Pettius, how often o'er the flowing Bowl,
When the gay Liquor warm'd my opening Soul,
When Bacchus, jovial God, no more restrain'd
The modest Secret, how have I complain'd,
That wealthy Blockheads, in a Female's Eyes,
From a poor Poet's Genius bear the Prize?
But if a generous Rage my Breast should warm,
I swore—no vain Amusements e'er shall charm
My aching Wounds. Ye vagrant Winds receive
The Sighs, that sooth the Pains they should relieve;
Here shall my Shame of being conquer'd end,
Nor with such Rivals will I more contend.
When the gay Liquor warm'd my opening Soul,
When Bacchus, jovial God, no more restrain'd
The modest Secret, how have I complain'd,
That wealthy Blockheads, in a Female's Eyes,
From a poor Poet's Genius bear the Prize?
But if a generous Rage my Breast should warm,
I swore—no vain Amusements e'er shall charm
My aching Wounds. Ye vagrant Winds receive
The Sighs, that sooth the Pains they should relieve;
461
Nor with such Rivals will I more contend.
When thus, with solemn Air, I vaunting said,
Inspir'd by thy Advice I homeward sped,
But ah! my Feet in wonted Wanderings stray,
And to no friendly Doors my Steps betray,
There I forgot my Vows, forget my Pride,
And at her Threshold lay my tortur'd Side.
Inspir'd by thy Advice I homeward sped,
But ah! my Feet in wonted Wanderings stray,
And to no friendly Doors my Steps betray,
There I forgot my Vows, forget my Pride,
And at her Threshold lay my tortur'd Side.
Epode XIII. To a Friend.
See what horrid Tempests rise,
And contract the clouded Skies;
Snows and Showers fill the Air,
And bring down the Atmosphere.
Hark! what Tempests sweep the Floods!
How they shake the ratling Woods!
And contract the clouded Skies;
Snows and Showers fill the Air,
And bring down the Atmosphere.
Hark! what Tempests sweep the Floods!
How they shake the ratling Woods!
Let us, while it's in our Power,
Let us seize the fleeting Hour;
While our Cheeks are fresh and gay,
Let us drive old Age away,
Let us smooth its gather'd Brows,
Youth its Hour of Mirth allows.
Let us seize the fleeting Hour;
While our Cheeks are fresh and gay,
Let us drive old Age away,
Let us smooth its gather'd Brows,
Youth its Hour of Mirth allows.
Bring us down the mellow'd Wine,
Rich in Years, that equal mine;
Prithee talk no more of Sorrow,
To the Gods belong to-morrow,
And, perhaps, with gracious Power,
They may change the gloomy Hour.
Let the richest Essence shed
Eastern Odours on your Head,
While the soft Cyllenian Lyre
Shall your labouring Breast inspire.
Rich in Years, that equal mine;
463
To the Gods belong to-morrow,
And, perhaps, with gracious Power,
They may change the gloomy Hour.
Let the richest Essence shed
Eastern Odours on your Head,
While the soft Cyllenian Lyre
Shall your labouring Breast inspire.
To his Pupil, brave and young,
Thus the noble Centaur sung;
Matchless Mortal! though 'tis thine,
Proud to boast a Birth divine,
Yet the Banks, with cooling Waves
Which the smooth Scamander laves;
And where Simoïs with Pride
Rougher rolls his rapid Tide,
Destin'd by unerring Fate,
Shall the Sea-born Hero wait.
There the Sisters, fated Boy,
Shall thy Thread of Life destroy,
Nor shall azure Thetis more
Waft Thee to thy natal Shore;
Then let Joy and Mirth be thine,
Mirthful Songs, and joyous Wine,
And with Converse blithe and gay,
Drive all gloomy Cares away.
Thus the noble Centaur sung;
Matchless Mortal! though 'tis thine,
Proud to boast a Birth divine,
Yet the Banks, with cooling Waves
Which the smooth Scamander laves;
And where Simoïs with Pride
Rougher rolls his rapid Tide,
Destin'd by unerring Fate,
Shall the Sea-born Hero wait.
There the Sisters, fated Boy,
Shall thy Thread of Life destroy,
Nor shall azure Thetis more
Waft Thee to thy natal Shore;
Then let Joy and Mirth be thine,
Mirthful Songs, and joyous Wine,
And with Converse blithe and gay,
Drive all gloomy Cares away.
465
Epode XV. To Neæra.
Clear was the Night, the Face of Heaven serene,
Bright shone the Moon amidst her starry Train,
When round my Neck as curls the Tendril-Vine—
(Loose are its Curlings, if compar'd to thine)
'Twas then, insulting every heavenly Power,
That, as I dictated, You boldly swore;
While the gaunt Wolf pursues the trembling Sheep;
While fierce Orion harrows up the Deep;
While Phœbus' Locks float wanton in the Wind,
Thus shall Neæra prove, thus ever kind.
Bright shone the Moon amidst her starry Train,
When round my Neck as curls the Tendril-Vine—
(Loose are its Curlings, if compar'd to thine)
'Twas then, insulting every heavenly Power,
That, as I dictated, You boldly swore;
While the gaunt Wolf pursues the trembling Sheep;
While fierce Orion harrows up the Deep;
While Phœbus' Locks float wanton in the Wind,
Thus shall Neæra prove, thus ever kind.
But, if with aught of Man was Horace born,
Severely shalt Thou feel his honest Scorn,
Nor shall He tamely bear the bold Delight,
With which his Rival riots out the Night,
But in his Anger seek some kinder Dame,
Warm with the Raptures of a mutual Flame,
Nor shall thy Rage, thy Grief, or angry Charms
Recall the Lover to thy faithless Arms.
And Thou, who-e'er Thou art, who joy to shine,
Proud as Thou art, in Spoils, which once were mine,
Though wide thy Land extends, and large thy Fold,
Though Rivers roll for Thee their purest Gold,
Though Nature's Wisdom in her Works were thine,
And Beauties of the human Face divine,
Yet soon thy Pride her wandering Love shall mourn,
While I shall laugh, exulting in my Turn.
Severely shalt Thou feel his honest Scorn,
Nor shall He tamely bear the bold Delight,
With which his Rival riots out the Night,
But in his Anger seek some kinder Dame,
Warm with the Raptures of a mutual Flame,
Nor shall thy Rage, thy Grief, or angry Charms
Recall the Lover to thy faithless Arms.
And Thou, who-e'er Thou art, who joy to shine,
Proud as Thou art, in Spoils, which once were mine,
Though wide thy Land extends, and large thy Fold,
Though Rivers roll for Thee their purest Gold,
467
And Beauties of the human Face divine,
Yet soon thy Pride her wandering Love shall mourn,
While I shall laugh, exulting in my Turn.
Epode XVI. To the Romans.
In endless, civil War, th'imperial State
By her own Strength precipitates her Fate.
What neighbouring Nations, fiercely leagu'd in Arms,
What Porsena, with insolent Alarms
Threatening her Tyrant Monarch to restore;
What Spartacus, and Capua's rival Power;
What Gaul, tumultuous and devoid of Truth,
And fierce Germania, with her blue-eyed Youth;
What Hannibal, on whose accursed Head
Our Sires their deepest Imprecations shed,
In vain attempted to her awful State,
Shall we, a Blood-devoted Race, compleat?
Again shall savage Beasts these Hills possess?
And fell Barbarians, wanton with Success,
Scatter our City's flaming Ruins wide,
Or through her Streets in vengeful Triumph ride,
And her great Founder's hallow'd Ashes spurn,
That sleep uninjur'd in their sacred Urn?
By her own Strength precipitates her Fate.
What neighbouring Nations, fiercely leagu'd in Arms,
What Porsena, with insolent Alarms
Threatening her Tyrant Monarch to restore;
What Spartacus, and Capua's rival Power;
What Gaul, tumultuous and devoid of Truth,
And fierce Germania, with her blue-eyed Youth;
What Hannibal, on whose accursed Head
Our Sires their deepest Imprecations shed,
In vain attempted to her awful State,
Shall we, a Blood-devoted Race, compleat?
469
And fell Barbarians, wanton with Success,
Scatter our City's flaming Ruins wide,
Or through her Streets in vengeful Triumph ride,
And her great Founder's hallow'd Ashes spurn,
That sleep uninjur'd in their sacred Urn?
But some, perhaps, to shun the rising Shame
(Which Heaven approve) would try some happier Scheme.
As the Phocæans oft for Freedom bled,
At length, with imprecated Curses, fled,
And left to Boars and Wolves the sacred Fane,
And all their Houshold Gods, ador'd in vain,
So let us fly, as far as Earth extends,
Or where the vagrant Wind our Voyage bends.
(Which Heaven approve) would try some happier Scheme.
As the Phocæans oft for Freedom bled,
At length, with imprecated Curses, fled,
And left to Boars and Wolves the sacred Fane,
And all their Houshold Gods, ador'd in vain,
So let us fly, as far as Earth extends,
Or where the vagrant Wind our Voyage bends.
Shall this, or shall some better Scheme prevail?
Why do we stop to hoist the willing Sail?
But let us swear, when floating Rocks shall gain,
Rais'd from the Deep, the Surface of the Main;
When lowly Po the Mountain-Summit laves,
And Apennine shall plunge beneath the Waves;
When Nature's Monsters meet in strange Delight,
And the fell Tygress shall with Stags unite;
When the fierce Kite shall wooe the willing Dove,
And win the Wanton with adulterous Love;
When Herds on brindled Lions fearless gaze,
And the smooth Goat exults in briny Seas,
Then, and then only, to the tempting Gale,
To spread repentant the returning Sail.
Why do we stop to hoist the willing Sail?
But let us swear, when floating Rocks shall gain,
Rais'd from the Deep, the Surface of the Main;
When lowly Po the Mountain-Summit laves,
And Apennine shall plunge beneath the Waves;
When Nature's Monsters meet in strange Delight,
And the fell Tygress shall with Stags unite;
When the fierce Kite shall wooe the willing Dove,
And win the Wanton with adulterous Love;
471
And the smooth Goat exults in briny Seas,
Then, and then only, to the tempting Gale,
To spread repentant the returning Sail.
But to cut off our Hopes; those Hopes that charm
Our Fondness home, let Us with curses arm
These high Resolves. Thus let the Brave and Wise,
Whose Souls above th'indocile Vulgar rise;
And let the Croud, who dare not hope Success,
Inglorious, these ill-omen'd Seats possess.
Our Fondness home, let Us with curses arm
These high Resolves. Thus let the Brave and Wise,
Whose Souls above th'indocile Vulgar rise;
And let the Croud, who dare not hope Success,
Inglorious, these ill-omen'd Seats possess.
But Ye, whom Virtue warms, indulge no more
These female Plaints, but quit this fated Shore;
For Earth-surrounding Sea our Flight awaits,
Offering its blissful Isles, and happy Seats,
Where annual Ceres crowns th'uncultur'd Field,
And Vines unprun'd their blushing Clusters yield;
Where Olives, faithful to their Season, grow,
And Figs with Nature's deepest Purple glow.
From hollow Oaks where honey'd Streams distill,
And bounds with noisy Foot the pebbled Rill;
Where Goats untaught forsake the flowery Vale,
And bring their swelling Udders to the Pail;
Nor evening Bears the Sheep-fold growl around,
Nor mining Vipers heave the tainted Ground;
Nor watry Eurus deluges the Plain,
Nor Heats excessive burn the springing Grain.
These female Plaints, but quit this fated Shore;
For Earth-surrounding Sea our Flight awaits,
Offering its blissful Isles, and happy Seats,
Where annual Ceres crowns th'uncultur'd Field,
And Vines unprun'd their blushing Clusters yield;
Where Olives, faithful to their Season, grow,
And Figs with Nature's deepest Purple glow.
From hollow Oaks where honey'd Streams distill,
And bounds with noisy Foot the pebbled Rill;
473
And bring their swelling Udders to the Pail;
Nor evening Bears the Sheep-fold growl around,
Nor mining Vipers heave the tainted Ground;
Nor watry Eurus deluges the Plain,
Nor Heats excessive burn the springing Grain.
Not Argo thither turn'd her armed Head;
Medea there no magic Poison spread;
No Merchants thither plow the pathless Main,
For guilty Commerce, and a Thirst of Gain;
Nor wise Ulysses, and his wandering Bands,
Vicious, though brave, e'er knew these happy Lands.
O'er the glad Flocks no foul Contagion spreads,
Nor Summer Sun his burning Influence sheds.
Medea there no magic Poison spread;
No Merchants thither plow the pathless Main,
For guilty Commerce, and a Thirst of Gain;
Nor wise Ulysses, and his wandering Bands,
Vicious, though brave, e'er knew these happy Lands.
O'er the glad Flocks no foul Contagion spreads,
Nor Summer Sun his burning Influence sheds.
Pure and unmix'd the World's first Ages roll'd,
But soon as Brass had stain'd the flowing Gold,
To Iron harden'd by succeeding Crimes,
Jove for the Just preserv'd these happy Climes,
To which the Gods this pious Race invite,
And bid me, raptur'd Bard, direct their Flight.
But soon as Brass had stain'd the flowing Gold,
To Iron harden'd by succeeding Crimes,
Jove for the Just preserv'd these happy Climes,
To which the Gods this pious Race invite,
And bid me, raptur'd Bard, direct their Flight.
475
Epode XVII. To Canidia.
Canidia, to thy matchless Art,
Vanquish'd I yield a suppliant Heart;
But oh! by Hell's extended Plains,
Where Pluto's gloomy Consort reigns;
By bright Diana's vengeful Rage,
Which Prayers, nor Hecatombs assuage,
And by the Books, of Power to call
The charmed Stars, and bid them fall,
No more pronounce the sacred Scrowl,
But back the magic Circle roll.
Vanquish'd I yield a suppliant Heart;
But oh! by Hell's extended Plains,
Where Pluto's gloomy Consort reigns;
By bright Diana's vengeful Rage,
Which Prayers, nor Hecatombs assuage,
And by the Books, of Power to call
The charmed Stars, and bid them fall,
No more pronounce the sacred Scrowl,
But back the magic Circle roll.
Even stern Achilles could forgive
The Mysian King, and bid Him live,
Though proud he rang'd the Ranks of Fight,
And hurl'd the Spear with daring Might.
Thus, when the murderous Hector lay
Condemn'd to Dogs, and Birds of Prey,
Yet when his royal Father kneel'd,
The fierce Achilles knew to yield,
And Troy's unhappy Matrons paid
Their Sorrows to their Hector's Shade.
The Mysian King, and bid Him live,
Though proud he rang'd the Ranks of Fight,
And hurl'd the Spear with daring Might.
Thus, when the murderous Hector lay
Condemn'd to Dogs, and Birds of Prey,
Yet when his royal Father kneel'd,
The fierce Achilles knew to yield,
And Troy's unhappy Matrons paid
Their Sorrows to their Hector's Shade.
477
Ulysses' Friends, in Labours try'd,
So Circe will'd, threw off their Hide,
Assum'd the human Form divine,
And drop'd the Voice and Sense of Swine.
So Circe will'd, threw off their Hide,
Assum'd the human Form divine,
And drop'd the Voice and Sense of Swine.
O Thou, whom Tars, and Merchants love,
Too deep thy vengeful Rage I prove,
Reduc'd, alas! to Skin and Bone,
My Vigour fled, my Colour gone.
Thy fragrant Odours on my Head
More than the Snows of Age have shed.
Days press on Nights, and Nights on Days,
Yet never bring an Hour of Ease,
While gasping in the Pangs of Death,
I stretch my Lungs in vain for Breath.
Too deep thy vengeful Rage I prove,
Reduc'd, alas! to Skin and Bone,
My Vigour fled, my Colour gone.
Thy fragrant Odours on my Head
More than the Snows of Age have shed.
Days press on Nights, and Nights on Days,
Yet never bring an Hour of Ease,
While gasping in the Pangs of Death,
I stretch my Lungs in vain for Breath.
Thy Charms have Power ('tis now confest)
To split the Head, and tear the Breast.
What would you more, all-charming Dame?
O Seas, and Earth! this scorching Flame!
Not such the Fire Alcides bore,
When the black-venom'd Shirt he wore;
Nor such the Flames, that to the Skies
From Ætna's burning Entrails rise;
And yet, Thou Shop of Poisons dire,
You glow with unrelenting Fire,
'Till by the rapid Heat calcin'd,
Vagrant I drive before the Wind.
To split the Head, and tear the Breast.
What would you more, all-charming Dame?
O Seas, and Earth! this scorching Flame!
Not such the Fire Alcides bore,
When the black-venom'd Shirt he wore;
Nor such the Flames, that to the Skies
From Ætna's burning Entrails rise;
And yet, Thou Shop of Poisons dire,
You glow with unrelenting Fire,
479
Vagrant I drive before the Wind.
How long—? What Ransom shall I pay?
Speak—I the stern Command obey.
To expiate the guilty Deed,
Say shall an hundred Bullocks bleed?
Or shall I to the lying String
Thy Fame and spotless Virtue sing?
Teach Thee, a golden Star, to rise,
And deathless walk the spangled Skies?
Speak—I the stern Command obey.
To expiate the guilty Deed,
Say shall an hundred Bullocks bleed?
Or shall I to the lying String
Thy Fame and spotless Virtue sing?
Teach Thee, a golden Star, to rise,
And deathless walk the spangled Skies?
When Helen's Virtue was defam'd,
Her Brothers, though with Rage enflam'd,
Yet to the Bard his Eyes restor'd,
When suppliant He their Grace implor'd.
Her Brothers, though with Rage enflam'd,
Yet to the Bard his Eyes restor'd,
When suppliant He their Grace implor'd.
Oh! calm this Madness of my Brain,
For you can heal this raging Pain.
You never knew the Birth of Shame,
Nor by thy Hand, all-skilful Dame,
The poor Man's Ashes are upturn'd,
Though they be thrice three Days inurn'd.
Thy Bosom's bounteous and humane,
Thy Hand from Blood and Murder clean;
And with a blooming Race of Boys,
Lucina crowns thy Mother-Joys.
For you can heal this raging Pain.
You never knew the Birth of Shame,
Nor by thy Hand, all-skilful Dame,
The poor Man's Ashes are upturn'd,
Though they be thrice three Days inurn'd.
Thy Bosom's bounteous and humane,
Thy Hand from Blood and Murder clean;
And with a blooming Race of Boys,
Lucina crowns thy Mother-Joys.
481
Canidia's Answer.
I'll hear no more. Thy Prayers are vain.
Not Rocks, amid the wintry Main,
Less heed the shipwreck'd Sailor's Cries,
When Neptune bids the Tempest rise.
Shall you Cotyttia's Feasts deride,
Yet safely triumph in thy Pride?
Or impious, to the Glare of Day
The sacred Joys of Love betray?
Or fill the City with my Name,
And Pontiffe-like our Rites defame?
Did I with Wealth in vain enrich,
Of potent Spells each charming Witch,
Or mix the speedy Drugs in vain?
No—through a lingering Length of Pain,
Reluctant shalt Thou drag thy Days,
While every Hour new Pangs shall raise.
Not Rocks, amid the wintry Main,
Less heed the shipwreck'd Sailor's Cries,
When Neptune bids the Tempest rise.
Shall you Cotyttia's Feasts deride,
Yet safely triumph in thy Pride?
Or impious, to the Glare of Day
The sacred Joys of Love betray?
Or fill the City with my Name,
And Pontiffe-like our Rites defame?
Did I with Wealth in vain enrich,
Of potent Spells each charming Witch,
Or mix the speedy Drugs in vain?
No—through a lingering Length of Pain,
Reluctant shalt Thou drag thy Days,
While every Hour new Pangs shall raise.
Gazing on the delusive Feast,
Which charms his Eye, yet flies his Taste,
Perfidious Tantalus implores,
For Rest, for Rest, the vengeful Powers;
Prometheus, while the Vulture preys
Upon his Liver, longs for Ease;
And Sisiphus, with many a Groan,
Uprolls, with ceaseless Toil, his Stone,
To fix it on the top-most Hill,
In vain, for Jove's all-ruling Will
Forbids. When thus in black Despair
Down from some Castle, high in Air,
You seek an headlong Fate below,
Or try the Dagger's pointed Blow,
Or if the left-ear'd Knot you tye,
Yet Death your vain Attempts shall fly;
Then on your Shoulders will I ride,
And Earth shall shake beneath my Pride.
Which charms his Eye, yet flies his Taste,
Perfidious Tantalus implores,
For Rest, for Rest, the vengeful Powers;
483
Upon his Liver, longs for Ease;
And Sisiphus, with many a Groan,
Uprolls, with ceaseless Toil, his Stone,
To fix it on the top-most Hill,
In vain, for Jove's all-ruling Will
Forbids. When thus in black Despair
Down from some Castle, high in Air,
You seek an headlong Fate below,
Or try the Dagger's pointed Blow,
Or if the left-ear'd Knot you tye,
Yet Death your vain Attempts shall fly;
Then on your Shoulders will I ride,
And Earth shall shake beneath my Pride.
Could I with Life an Image warm
(Impertinent, you saw the Charm)
Or tear down Luna from her Skies,
Or bid the Dead, though burn'd, arise,
Or mix the Draught inspiring Love,
And shall my Art on Thee successless prove?
(Impertinent, you saw the Charm)
Or tear down Luna from her Skies,
Or bid the Dead, though burn'd, arise,
Or mix the Draught inspiring Love,
And shall my Art on Thee successless prove?
END of the Epodes.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |