The works of Horace, translated into verse With a prose interpretation, for the help of students. And occasional notes. By Christopher Smart ... In four volumes |
 | I. |
| 1. | THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
 | 2. |
| 3. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The works of Horace, translated into verse |  |
1
THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
3
ODE I. TO MÆCENAS.
Different men have their several pleasures: Horace affects the name of a poet, especially in the lyric cast.
Whose royal ancestors were crown'd;
O patron of my wealth and praise,
And pride and pleasure of my days!
Some of a vent'rous cast there are,
That glory in th'Olympic car,
Whose glowing wheels in dust they roll,
Driv'n to an inch upon the goal,
And rise from mortal to divine,
Ennobled by the wreath they twine.
One, if the giddy mob proclaim,
And vying lift to threefold fame;
5
The wealth of Lybian threshing-floors,
Will never from his course be press'd,
For all that Attalus possess'd,
To plow, with sailor's anxious pain,
In Cyprian sloop th'Egean main.
The merchant, dreading the south-west,
Whose blasts th'Icarian wave molest,
Praises his villa's rural ease,
Built amongst bowling-greens and trees;
But soon the thoughts of growing poor
Make him his shatter'd barks insure.
There's now and then a social soul
That will not scorn the Massic bowl,
Nor shuns to break in a degree
On the grave day's solidity;
Now underneath the shrubby shade,
Now by the sacred fountain laid.
Many are for the martial strife,
And love the trumpet and the fife,
That mingle in the din of war,
Which all the pious dames abhor:
The sportsman, heedless of his fair,
With patience braves the wintry air,
Whether his blood-hounds, staunch and keen,
The hind have in the covert seen,
Or wild boar of the Marsian breed,
From the round-twisted cords is freed.
7
The glory of the scholar's brows,
The wreath of festive ivy wove,
Which makes one company for Jove.
Me the cool groves by zephyrs fann'd,
Where nymphs and satyrs, hand in hand,
Dance nimbly to the rural song,
Distinguish from the vulgar throng.
If nor Euterpe, heavenly gay,
Forbid her pleasant pipes to play,
Nor Polyhymnia disdain
A lesson in the Lesbian strain,
That, thro' Mæcenas, I may pass
'Mongst writers of the Lyric class,
My muse her laurell'd head shall rear,
And top the zenith of her sphere.
9
ODE II. TO AUGUSTUS CÆSAR.
Many storms and tempests are inflicted upon the Roman people, to avenge the death of Julius Cæsar. The sole hope of the empire is placed in the safety of Augustus.
These frequent storms of snow and hail,
Which Jove, commission'd from the skies,
So dreadful to prevail!
And hurling from his flaming arm
His vengeful bolts, 'midst thunder-show'rs
Has o'er the city spread th'alarm,
And smote the sacred tow'rs.
Thro' all the world th'alarm is spread,
For fear of those portentous days,
When Proteus on the mountain's head
Made his sea-monsters graze.
On topmost elms the scaly race
Stuck where the ring-doves us'd to be,
And tim'rous deer, expell'd their place,
Swam in the whelming sea.
We saw the sandy Tiber drive
Huge billows from th'Etrurian strand,
And e'en at Vesta's fane arrive
To mar, what Numa plann'd.
11
He fondling hears his wife complain,
And flooding to the left his stream,
He glories in our bane.
Thinn'd by our crimes our sons shall tell,
How Romans whet the sword and spear,
(Against the Persians had been well)
And all our broils shall hear.
What pow'r to save her sinking name
Shall Rome invoke, what urgent suit
Shall Vesta's holy virgin's frame
In hymns that bear no fruit.
What worthy, for the nation's aid,
Our crimes t'atone shall Jove assign,
Come white-rob'd Phœbus, as we've pray'd,
Do thou thyself divine?
Or if thou rather wouldst befriend
Glad queen of Eryce's perfumes,
Whom love and pleasantry attend
With their ambrosial plumes—
13
O founder of the Roman race,
To visit thy neglected seed,
Now sunk into disgrace:
Too long indulg'd thy cruel sport,
Whom noise, and polish'd helms delight,
And the fierce Moor's determin'd port,
And aspect in the fight.
Or if the part you can sustain,
By thee the righteous deed be done,
You , which yourself a mortal feign,
O gentle Maia's son:
Late may'st thou be again receiv'd,
And long in gladness rule our state,
Nor thee at all our vices griev'd,
Th'unwelcome gale translate!
Here rather be the triumph priz'd,
And, father, emp'ror dear to Rome,
Delight thine ear—nor unchastis'd,
Let scamp'ring Medes presume!
Ilia, the mother of Romulus, was cast into the Tiber; and hence (as some will have it) poetically called his wife. It is likely she was very fond to walk by that pleasant river, till she was wedded to the place.
The poet here supposes Augustus to be Mercury, in a human shape. There are many reasons (says Rodellius) wherefore Augustus might be likened to Mercury: for if the courier in ordinary of the Gods was expert in business, quick, and resembling a lively youth, Octavius, the minister of providence for the repose of mankind, was all this also, at that time being twenty-three. Mercury was the God of genius and address, Octavius a very great patron of the one, and a most consummate master of the other.
15
ODE III.
[So may the queen of Cyprus' isle]
He prays that the ship may have a good passage, which was about to carry Virgil to Athens: after which he, with great spirit inveighs against the temerity of mankind.
And Helen's brethren in sweet star-light smile,
And Æolus the winds arrest,
All but the fav'ring gales of fresh north-west,
O ship, that ow'st so great a debt,
No less than Virgil, to our fond regret!
By thee on yon Athenian shore
Let him be safely landed, I implore:
And o'er the billows, as they roll,
Preserve the larger portion of my soul!
A heart of oak, and breast of brass
Were his, who first presum'd on seas to pass,
And ever ventur'd to engage,
In a slight skiff, with ocean's desperate rage;
Nor fear'd to hear the cracking masts,
When Africus contends with northern blasts;
Nor Hyads, still foreboding storms,
Nor wrathful south, that all the depth deforms;
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Whether the waves he ruffles or restrains.
How dauntless of all death was he,
Whose tearless eyes could such strange monsters see;
Cou'd see the swelling ocean low'r,
Or those huge rocks, which in Epirus tow'r!
Dread Providence the land in vain
Has cut from that dissociable main,
If impious mortals not the less
On this forbidden element transgress:
Determin'd each extreme to bear,
All desp'rate deeds the race of mortals dare.
Prometheus, with presumptuous fraud,
Stole fire from heav'n, and spread the flame abroad,
Of which dire sacrilege the fruit,
The lank consumption, and a new recruit
Of fevers came upon mankind,
And for a long delay at first design'd,
The last extremity advanc'd,
And urg'd the march of death, and all his pangs inhanc'd,
With wings, not giv'n a man below,
Did Dedalus attempt in air to go.
Th'Herculean toil, exceeding bound,
Broke through the gulf of Acheron profound.
19
He'll scale the skies in folly, if he can;
Nor by his vices every day
Will give Jove leave his wrathful bolts to stay.
This ode is to be referred to the year of Rome 734, in which Virgil made a voyage to Athens, intending there to put the last hand to his Eneid at his leisure. He was scarce arrived, when Augustus returning from the East to Italy, brought him back with him; but being taken ill on ship-board, he was put ashore at Brandusium, where, the year following, he died, aged fifty-one.
21
ODE IV. TO SEXTIUS, A PERSON OF CONSULAR DIGNITY .
By describing the delightfulness of spring, and urging the common lot of mortality, he exhorts Sextius, as an Epicurean, to a life of voluptuousness.
To the sharp winter's keener blasts succeed,
Along the beach, with ropes, the ships they bring,
And launch again, their watry way to speed.
No more the plowmen in their cots delight,
Nor cattle are contented in the stall;
No more the fields with hoary frosts are white,
But Cytherean Venus leads the ball.
She, while the moon attends upon the scene,
The Nymphs and decent Graces in the set,
Shakes with alternate feet the shaven green,
While Vulcan's Cyclops at the anvil sweat.
Now we with myrtle shou'd adorn our brows,
Or any flow'r that decks the loosen'd sod;
In shady groves to Faunus pay our vows,
Whether a lamb or kid delight the God.
23
O happy Sextius, and the royal dome,
The whole of life forbids our hope to soar,
Death and the shades anon shall press thee home.
And when into the shallow grave you run,
You cannot win the monarchy of wine,
Nor doat on Lycidas, as on a son,
Whom for their spouse all little maids design.
Though this Sextius always had favoured his friend Brutus, and even at this time respected his memory, insomuch as to preserve busts of him in his house, yet Augustus, in love with such fidelity, not without prodigious applause for his generosity, chose him his colleague, in the year of Rome 713, from whence, I conjecture (says Rodellius) that this Ode was written the year following, there being no reason to call Sextius happy before his consulate, and the season of the consulate itself not being for indulging the genius in matter of festivity.
25
ODE V. TO PYRRHA.
Horace has escaped from the allurements of Pyrrha, as from a ship-wreck. He affirms such as are ensnared by her love to be in a state of wretchedness.
Say what slim youth, with moist perfumes
Bedaub'd, now courts thy fond embrace,
There, where the frequent rose-tree blooms,
And makes the grot so sweet a place?
Pyrrha, for whom with such an air
Do you bind back your golden hair?
Bedaub'd, now courts thy fond embrace,
There, where the frequent rose-tree blooms,
And makes the grot so sweet a place?
Pyrrha, for whom with such an air
Do you bind back your golden hair?
So seeming in your cleanly vest,
Whose plainness is the pink of taste—
Alas! how oft shall he protest
Against his confidence misplac't,
And love's inconstant pow'rs deplore,
And wondrous winds, which, as they roar,
Whose plainness is the pink of taste—
Alas! how oft shall he protest
Against his confidence misplac't,
And love's inconstant pow'rs deplore,
And wondrous winds, which, as they roar,
Throw black upon the alter'd scene—
Who now so well himself deceives,
And thee all sunshine, all serene
For want of better skill believes,
And for his pleasure has presag'd
Thee ever dear and disengag'd.
Who now so well himself deceives,
And thee all sunshine, all serene
For want of better skill believes,
And for his pleasure has presag'd
Thee ever dear and disengag'd.
27
Wretched are all within thy snares,
The inexperienc'd and the young!
For me the temple witness bears
Where I my dropping weeds have hung,
And left my votive chart behind
To him that rules both wave and wind.
The inexperienc'd and the young!
For me the temple witness bears
Where I my dropping weeds have hung,
And left my votive chart behind
To him that rules both wave and wind.
29
ODE VI. TO AGRIPPA.
Varius, the tragic and epic poet, will with more address sing the atchievements of Agrippa. Horace is only fit to celelebrate revels, and take pictures from middle life.
Brave and victorious in the fight,
Our Varius with Mæonian flight
Shall thine atchievements blaze,
Whate'er, beneath thy great command,
The troops have done by sea and land,
In fierce desire of praise.
Our Varius with Mæonian flight
Shall thine atchievements blaze,
Whate'er, beneath thy great command,
The troops have done by sea and land,
In fierce desire of praise.
Agrippa, I cannot attain
The grandeur of the epic strain,
Tho' rous'd by deeds like thine,
Nor colour up the glowing page
With Peleus son's immortal rage,
Nor reach the great design
The grandeur of the epic strain,
Tho' rous'd by deeds like thine,
Nor colour up the glowing page
With Peleus son's immortal rage,
Nor reach the great design
That artful hero to recount,
Who could by sea such toils surmont;
Nor sing the barbrous race
Of Pelops, while the bashful lyre
Thy praise and Cæsar's on the wire
Forbids me to disgrace.
Who could by sea such toils surmont;
Nor sing the barbrous race
Of Pelops, while the bashful lyre
Thy praise and Cæsar's on the wire
Forbids me to disgrace.
31
What mortal pen can Mars recite,
In adamantine armour bright,
Or with the life compare
Meriones in dust involv'd,
Or him, Menerva's aid resolv'd
The Gods themselves to dare?
In adamantine armour bright,
Or with the life compare
Meriones in dust involv'd,
Or him, Menerva's aid resolv'd
The Gods themselves to dare?
I sing of sports and am'rous play,
(For all these things are in my way)
And nymphs of sportive veins,
That are so apt to scratch and tear
With nails which to the quick they pare
Against their fav'rite swains.
(For all these things are in my way)
And nymphs of sportive veins,
That are so apt to scratch and tear
With nails which to the quick they pare
Against their fav'rite swains.
33
ODE VII. TO MUNATIUS PLANCUS, A PERSON OF CONSULAR DIGNITY
Some writers praise one city or region, and some another. Horace prefers Tibur to all the world, in which place Plancus was born, whom he exhorts to the washing away of care by wine.
Or Mytilene, or th'Ephesian pride,
Or chant the walls of Corinth in their odes,
Wash'd by a different sea on either side,
Or Thebes for Bacchus, Delphi justly fam'd
For Phœbus, or Thessalian Tempe's vale;
Some make the seat of Pallas, nymph unblam'd,
The theme of one uninterrupted tale,
And run all lengths to wear an olive-crown—
Many for Juno, with poetic zeal,
Argus so apt for cavalry renown,
And, rich Mycenæ, boast thy public weal.
With me nor patient Sparta, nor the plains
Of high-manur'd Larissa e'er cou'd take,
As where Albunea's tinkling fount remains,
Or Anio roaring down into the lake.
35
Where flow'ring orchards give a strong perfume,
Where marshal'd trees upon the stream are seen,
And in the waggling waters wave their bloom.
As the white south at times serenes the skies,
Nor are his gathring show'rs for ever rife;
So thou, O Plancus, 'gainst thy cares be wise,
With mellow wine dismiss the toils of life,
Whether the camp, with shining standards gay,
Detain you ready for the hour of fight,
Or in your native Tibur you shall stay,
And in the dense embow'ring shades delight.
When Teucer by his father was oppress'd,
And driv'n away from Salamis he fled,
He thus his weeping company address'd,
As, wet with wine, the poplar bound his head.
“Sped on by fortune, kinder than my sire,
“O my co-mates, we'll go where'er she pleases;
“Despair of nothing and to all aspire—
“By Teucer's guidance Teucer's auspices.
“For Phœbus has of certainty foretold,
“That in a land to us advent'rers new,
“Fair Salamis a doubtful name shall hold,
“O brave companions, O my faithful few!
“Ye that with me have harder things endur'd,
“Than all the evils which ye now sustain,
“This day your grief and care with wine be cur'd,
“To-morrow sends us to the depth again.”
Munatius Plancus, upon the death of Cæsar, at first sided with Octavius, and was consul with M. Lepidus, in the year of Rome, 712. After that he went over to Antony, and did not return to Augustus till 722, who, in consideration of what was past, perhaps not putting any great confidence in him, made no use of him in the war, which that very year was denounced against Antony and Cleopatra. Plancus upon this, being in a state of chagrin, stood in need of that consolation which Horace endeavours to give him in this ode.
37
ODE VIII. TO LYDIA.
He animadverts upon Sybaris, a youth distractedly in love with Lydia, and wholly dissolved in pleasures.
Why Sybaris destroy,
Why make love do the deeds of hate,
And to his end precipitate
The dear enamour'd boy?
Why can he not the field abide,
From sun and dust recede,
Nor with his friends, in gallant pride,
Dress'd in his regimentals, ride,
And curb the manag'd steed?
Why does he now to bathe disdain,
And fear the sandy flood?
Why from th'athletic oil refrain,
As if its use would-be his bane,
As sure as viper's blood?
No more his shoulders black and blue
By wearing arms appear;
He, who the quoit so dextrous threw,
And from whose hand the jav'lin flew
Beyond a rival's spear;
39
Of Thetis' fav'rite heir,
Lest a man's habit should betray,
And force him to his troops away,
The work of death to share?
41
ODE IX. TO THALIARCHUS.
The greater the violence of the winter, the more we should indulge in festivity.
Still more and more a mountain grow,
Nor can the lab'ring woods their weight sustain,
And motionless with frost the sharpen'd streams remain.
Dissolve the cold, a rousing fire
Upon the social hearth aspire,
And four years old with bountiful design
Bring in the Sabine jar the long-expected wine.
Leave to th'immortal Gods the rest,
For when they shall have once supprest
The winds, that on the boiling surge contend,
Nor cypress shakes a leaf, nor yon old ash-trees bend.
Enquire not of to-morrow's fate,
And whatsoever chance await,
Turn to account, nor fly from sweet amours,
Nor let the dance be shunn'd by such address as yours.
43
Nor peevish age brings on the spleen,
By turns the field, the tenis-court repeat,
And whispers soft at night for assignations meet.
Now glad to hear the damsel raise
The laugh, that her retreat betrays,
Steal from her arm the pledge for theft dispos'd,
Or from her finger force, with sham-resistance clos'd,
The pronoun tu being emphatical in the original, it is likely that Thaliarchus was an excellent dancer.
45
ODE X. TO MERCURY.
Whom he praises for his eloquence, his parentage, for the invention of the lyre and palestra, for his great address in pilfering, and for the offices that he discharges.
From Atlas sprung, rough man to rule,
And form our sons to toil and taste
As in th'Athenian school.
Thee will I sing, great Jove's courier,
Inventor of the lyre confest;
Expert to steal and disappear,
And turn it to a jest.
Thee when a boy, with threats injoin'd
To bring the steers you had withdrawn,
Apollo laugh'd aloud to find
His quiver also gone.
King Priam likewise, thee his guide,
Deserting Troy with all his wealth,
Atreus his haughty sons defy'd,
And hostile camp by stealth.
47
Your golden rod compels to go,
O grateful to the Gods above
And to the pow'rs below.
49
ODE XI. TO LEUCONOE.
He advises Leuconoe to indulge in pleasure, regardless of all care for the morrow, by deducing his arguments from the brevity and fleetness of life.
The date the Gods decree
To you, my fair Leuconoe,
Or what they fix for me.
Nor your Chaldean books consult,
But chearfully submit,
(How much a better thought it is?)
To what the Gods think fit.
Whether more winters on our head
They shall command to low'r,
Or this the very last of all
Shall bring our final hour.
E'en this, whose rough tempestuous rage
Makes yon Tyrrhenian roar,
And all his foamy breakers dash
Upon the rocky shore.
Be wise and broach your mellow wine,
Which carefully decant,
And your desires proportionate
To life's compendious grant.
E'en while we speak the moments fly,
Be greedy of to-day;
Nor trust another for those pranks
Which we may never play.
In order to imitate the metre of the original, the longest measure in the English tongue (much in use amongst our old poets) is here introduced: but, for convenience of printing, one line is severed into two.
51
ODE XII. TO AUGUSTUS.
Having celebrated the Gods, heroes, and certain famous men, at last he comes to the divine honours of Augustus.
What man, what hero is your choice,
And with what God will you inspire
Glad echo's mimic voice?
Or in the Heliconian shade,
Or Pindus or cool Hæmus sped,
Where the vague woods at random stray'd
With Orpheus at their head?
E'en he who, by his mother's art,
The loud cascade, the rapid wind
Cou'd stop—and ears to oaks impart,
To his soft airs inclin'd?
First then the usual form of praise
Is his, who men and Gods impow'rs,
The earth, the sea, the world he sways,
The seasons and the hours.
From whom no greater can proceed,
To whom no being's like or near;
Yet Pallas challenges the mead
Of secondary fear.
53
Nor thee, fair Forrester, the foe
Of beasts, nor thee which aim'st so right,
Dread Phœbus, with thy bow.
Alcides next, and Leda's twins,
In chivalry and cestus too
I praise, whose star, when it begins
To bless the seaman's view,
Its brightness makes the waves subside,
The winds are still, the clouds disperse,
And smooth at their command's the tide,
That roar'd but now so fierce.
Now shall I Rome's first founder sing,
Or Numa's peaceful reign commend,
Or Priscus great and mighty king,
Or Cato's glorious end?
Great Regulus I will enroll,
The house of Scaurus, Paulus write,
So lavish of his godlike soul,
And grateful thee recite,
Fabricius, with rough Curius join'd;
Him and Camillus too for arms
A hardy poverty design'd
In their paternal farms.
55
Marcellus, so thy fame aspires:
The Julian star, like Luna, shines
Amongst the lesser fires.
Sire and preserver of our race,
From Saturn sprung, do thou convey,
That Cæsar hold the second place
In thine eternal sway;
Whether o'er Parthia's threatning host
At a just triumph he arrive,
Or, subject to the eastern coast,
Confed'rate Indians drive.
Subordinate to thee alone,
He o'er the happy world shall reign,
While thou shalt thunder from thy throne
On each polluted fane.
57
ODE XIII. TO LYDIA.
He is very uneasy that his rival Telephus is preferred to him by Lydia.
How Telephus, her Telephus excells;
And harps upon his manly charms,
His neck so rosy-red, and iv'ry arms;
Alas! I boil with jealous ire,
And all th'internal man is set on fire.
Then are my pow'rs of reason weak,
My colour comes and goes, and down my cheek
The trickling tears of anguish steal,
Proof of the ling'ring fever that I feel.
I burn, if in th'immod'rate broils
Of liquor thy white sleeves the tipler soils,
Or in a raging am'rous fit,
Has left his mark upon the lips he bit.
Believe me, Lydia, in the end
You cannot hope his love will long extend,
Who to your kisses is so rude
By Venus in nectareous balm imbu'd.
59
Who without breach still hug the pleasing chain;
Nor ever any bick'ring strife
Can part them till the last extreme of life.
61
ODE XIV. TO THE REPUBLIC OF ROME, ON THE RENEWAL OF THE CIVIL WAR.
New floods of strife that swell the main,O ship, shall bring thee out again;
O wherefore venture? 'tis your fort
To keep your station in the port.
Do not you see your sides bereft,
Till not a single oar is left,
And, wounded by the rapid blast,
Groan the crack'd sail-yards and the mast?
Nor are there scarcely farther hopes,
That your old keel, despoil'd of ropes,
Can longer hold it out to brave
The fury of th'impetuous wave.
Thy canvas is no longer tight,
Nor Gods to sue in evil plight,
Tho' once a Pontic pine you stood,
And daughter of a noble wood,
May'st boast a vain descent and form—
The tim'rous seaman in a storm
Trusts not in painted planks—be warn'd,
Lest by the hissing winds you're scorn'd.
63
Still my desire and constant pray'r,
Yet may'st thou from those isles be free
That glister in th'Ionian sea.
65
ODE XV. THE PREDICTIONS OF NEREUS CONCERNING THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY.
When Paris ship'd in base deceit,Against all hospitable laws,
Fair Helen in th'Idean fleet,
Nereus injoin'd the winds a pause;
And hush'd into the peace, they hate
The rapid murm'rers, while he sung
Each cruel circumstance and date
Of distiny, that o'er them hung.
“Ill-omen'd her you take to Troy,
“Whom Greece united shall reclaim,
“And Priam's ancient reign destroy,
“And your connubials with the dame.
“What deaths attend the Dardan realm!
“What toils for man and steed to bear!
“See Pallas now her shield, her helm,
“Her car and all her wrath prepare!
“In vain, presumptuous in the aid
Of Venus, you your hair shall tire,
“And grateful to each list'ning maid
“Run soft divisions on the lyre.
67
“So dread to amorous delight,
“You shall avoid with timid heart,
“And Ajax swift to urge your flight.
“Yet late, too late, adultr'ous swain,
“You shall your locks in dust besmear,
“See there Ulysses, see the bane
“Of Troy with Pylian Nestor near.
“The Salaminian Teucer speeds—
“See warlike Sthenelus arrive,
“Who, if there's need of martial steeds,
“Is excellent those steeds to drive.
“Thou too, Meriones, shall know,
And more heroic than his sire
“Hear Diomed, thy deadly foe,
“In wrath to find thy post inquire.
“Whom you in panting haste shall fly,
“Tho' Helen heard another tale,
“As harts the wolf they chance to spy,
“Heedless of pasture in the vale.
“Long as Achilles' wrath shall last,
“Thy Phrygian dames shall stave their doom,
“But Grecia's flames, some winters past,
“Shall Trojan tow'rs consume.”
69
ODE XVI. TO HIS MISTRESS.
He is reduced to sing a recantation; for he begs pardon of a young lady whom he had offended with certain Iambics: and he shifts the blame upon his passionate temper, whose uncontroulable violence he describes.
O fairer than the beauteous dame
That bore thee, put what shameful end you please,
Whether in flaming fire, or Adriatic seas.
Cybele, nor the priest possest,
Phœbus himself an inward guest,
Not Liber can the settl'd temper shake,
Not Corybantian drums with all the noise they make;
Like baleful ire, which neither blade
Of Noric temper has dismay'd;
Nor ship-devouring seas, nor fire-flakes red,
Nor Jove himself up-roaring in tremendous dread.
'Tis said Prometheus was controul'd
To work into the human mould
Some portion took from brutes of every kind,
And to the stomach's pride the lion's wrath assign'd.
71
By such a downfal, great and fell,
That final overthrow of towns, where now
O'er the raz'd walls the foe drive their insulting plough.
Take warning and suppress your rage;
Me also, in my blooming age,
Such sallies cou'd seduce too far to dare,
And in the keen Iambic satyrize my fair.
But now I would myself endear,
And for the gentle change severe,
Provided she my recantation view,
And be again my sweet, and all my hope renew.
73
ODE XVII. TO TYNDARIS.
He invites her to Lucretilis, shewing her sundry advantages that she should reap from the place.
And to Lucretilis applies,
And there defends, in situation sweet,
My goats from showery winds, and from the burning heat.
Secure without another ward,
The wives of their unsavoury lord,
At large on thyme and arbute shrubs are fed,
Nor do their kids fierce wolves or lurking adders dread.
But more especial is their peace,
If you the imprison'd notes release,
And those sweet strains, O Tyndaris, you play,
Ustica's sloping groupe of marble piles repay.
The Gods protect, the Gods espouse
My lyric muse, and faithful vows,
Here you shall fully taste a welcome guest,
The horn of rural honours heap'd for thee and prest.
75
You shall avoid the dog-star's heat,
And here shall harp upon the Teian string,
Penelope and Circe vying for the king.
Here shaded, innocent and light,
You shall partake the Lesbian white,
Nor to your bow'r shall Mars himself betake,
Nor Semele's Thyoneus his disturbance make.
And, though suspected to be here,
You shall not ruffian Cyrus fear,
Lest his rude hands should not your sex forbear,
But pull your chaplet off, and the poor night-gown tear.
77
ODE XVIII. TO QUINTILIUS VARUS.
Wine moderately taken, makes the heart glad, but drank to excess, creates madness.
Before the sacred vine,
If you to plant the kindly soil
Of Catilus design.
For to the droughty all things hard
Has Heav'n and nature made;
Nor can we rankling care escape
Without the bottle's aid.
Who make a racket in their cups,
Of want or war's distress,
Nor rather Bachus, sire of joy,
And graceful Venus bless?
But lest we shou'd transgress and take
More liquor than we ought,
The Centaurean battles warn
O'er such carousing fought.
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As most severely just
Against Sithonians right and wrong
Confounding in their lust.
To thee my candid Bassareus
I will not do despite;
Nor bring from underneath the leaf
What best had shunn'd the light.
Restrain your Berecynthian horn,
And hush your savage drums,
After whose clam'rous din, self-love
In partial blindness comes;
Vain glory next, with empty head
Aloft, is wont to pass;
And tattling treachery succeeds
Seen through as clear as glass.
Quintilius Varus having enjoyed great posts, and even the consulship itself at Rome, was at last overthrown in Germany with a very great slaughter, called the Varian defeat, and esteemed most deplorable in the judgment of Augustus. This defeat happened shortly after the death of Horace, which (I suppose) makes Rodellius doubt whether this Quintilius Varus, to whom this ode is addressed, be the same.
81
ODE XIX. OF GLYCERA.
That he is inflamed with her love.
And Semele the Theban's son inspires,
And wanton wilfulness assures
To render up my heart to fresh amours.
Bright Glycera my soul inflames,
Whose lustre e'en the Parian polish shames,
And her sweet archness fans the blaze,
And slipp'ry looks that balk the lover's gaze.
Her Cyprus now deserting quite,
Venus on me careers with all her might,
Nor lets the Scythian be rehears'd,
Nor Parthian furious with his steed revers'd,
As things impertinent to sing.
Here, lads, in rolls the living verdure bring,
And frankincense and vervain place
With wine of two years old to crown the vase.
A victim welt'ring in his gore,
Her presence will propitiate the more.
83
ODE XX. TO MÆCENAS.
He invites Mæcenas to an entertainment by no means sumptuous.
In sober cups of Sabine wine,
Poor bev'rage of Horatian make,
Which with these hands of mine
Was well secur'd that very day,
When such applause in thund'ring roar
Was giv'n your merit at the play;
Till from the sounding shore
Of your own Tiber, back it came,
And at Mount Vatican arriv'd.
There echo, pleas'd t'augment your fame,
The gen'ral peal reviv'd.
You on Calenian juice can dine,
And may rich Cæcuban afford;
But Formian or Falernian wine
Appear not at my board.
85
ODE XXI. TO APOLLO AND DIANA.
He exhorts the damsels and boys to sing their praises.
Ye lads, the smooth-fac'd Phœbus praise;
And lov'd so much by heav'ns high king,
Latona likewise grace the lays.
Praise her that loves the streams and groves,
Such as cold Algidus o'ershade,
Or in black Erymanthus roves,
Or Cragus ever-verdant glade.
Ye vying youths of Tempe tell,
And Delos, Phœbus native place;
Him, whom the bow becomes so well,
And lyre of true Mercurial grace.
He, if he tearful war inflicts,
Or wretched famine, as you pray,
Against the Persians and the Picts
From Cæsar shall the plague convey.
87
ODE XXII. TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.
Integrity of life is on all sides in security, and that he proves by an instance of himself.
Leaves to the blacks their spear and bow,
Nor need he deadly tinctur'd darts
Within his quiver stow.
Whether the suns of southern flame,
Or barb'rous Caucasus he braves,
Or goes, where of romantic fame,
Vast tracts Hydaspes laves.
For careless, out of bounds to rove,
(A song on Lalage my plan)
Me swordless in the Sabine grove
A wolf beheld, and ran.
A monster, such as ne'er was fed
In warlike Daunia's beechen plain,
Nor e'er that nurse of lions bred,
E'en Juba's dry domain.
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Where trees receive no fost'ring gale,
Whence Jove has turn'd away his face,
And clouds obscure prevail;
Or place me, where the sun too near,
No huts can stand the heat above,
Sweet-smiling, sweetly-prattling dear,
My Lalage I'll love.
90
ODE XXIII. TO CHLOE.
There is no reason why Chloe should shun the touch of man, whom in the maturity of her bloom she is now fit for.
That seeks in trackless mountains high
Her tim'rous dam again;
Alarm'd at every thing she hears,
The woods, the winds excite her fears,
Tho' all those fears are vain.
For if a tree the breeze receives,
That plays upon the quiv'ring leaves
When spring begins to start;
Or if green lizards, where they hide,
Turn but the budding bush aside,
She trembles knees and heart.
But I continue my pursuit,
Not like the fierce Getulian brute,
Or tyger, to assail,
And of thee life and limbs bereave—
Think now at last 'tis time to leave
Thy mother for a male.
93
ODE XXIV. TO VIRGIL.
Who lamented inconsolably the death of Quintilius.
Or bounds prescribe to grief, like this,
For those most precious dear remains,
Of which we have so great a miss?
Melpomene, do thou the dirge inspire,
To whom Jove gave the liquid voice and lyre.
Has then eternal sleep possess'd
Quintilius, mod'rate, just and kind,
Where shall our grievance be redress'd,
Or where will ye his equal find,
O modesty, and faith, the fair allies
Of justice, and the truth without disguise?
—An object of exceeding grief
To many, virtuous, did he fall—
But thou, O Virgil, art the chief,
More inconsolable than all—
In vain, alas! you to the Gods resent
Him, who was not on such conditions lent.
What tho' your own majestic lays
Shou'd, sweeter far than Orpheus' lyre,
Give ears to laurels and to bays,
You cou'd not make his corpse respire,
Or bid the blood in that cold image flow,
Which Mercury, the minister below,
94
In locking up the doors of fate,
Nor will he be by pray'r withheld,
However musical and great—
'Tis hard—but manly patience must endure,
And make things lighter, that admit no cure.
This Quintilius is not the same with him to whom the eighteenth ode is addressed, but a native of Cremona, a poet by profession, and a near relation of Virgil; which latter circumstance particularly endeared him to Horace.
97
ODE XXV. TO LYDIA.
He insults her, that now being old, she is deservedly contemned by her gallants.
The window-shutters of their toast,
You now may sleep secure of harm;
The door affects the post,
Which mov'd so oft its pliant hinge—
—You hear that serenade no more,
“Sleep'st thou, while dying lovers winge,
“O Lydia, at thy door!”
Jilt, thou the scoffing sparks shalt soon
Lament, neglected in a lane,
When, at the changing of the moon,
The north-west blows amain;
While love and vehement desire,
Such as the mares for stallions seize,
Shall set your blister'd breast asire,
Join'd to complaints like these,
That gladsome youths on ivy green
And constant myrtle rather glote;
To Hebrus winter's comrade keen,
The wither'd leaves devote.
99
ODE XXVI. TO THE MUSE, CONCERNING ÆLIUS LAMIA.
It is not fitting that the votaries of the muses should be liable to solicitude and grief. The poet recommends his friend Lamia to the Pimplean muse.
I throw into the Cretan main,
To be the sport of ruffian tempests there—
Who the cold north shall sway is far beneath my care.
I in peculiar unconcern
Profess myself, whatever turn
The great affairs of Tiridates take,
And all th'alarming dread, that keep his thoughts awake.
O muse of the Pimplean hill,
That lov'st to taste the genuine rill,
Weave me those flow'rs that brightest beams receive,
Yea elegance and fragrance for my Lamia weave.
Without that influence of thine,
Vain are the honours I design,
Thou and thy graceful sisters ought to smile,
To him devote new strains, and in the Lesbian style.
This is the same Lamia with him, ode xvii. book iii. where we shall have more occasion to take notice of him.
101
ODE XXVII. TO HIS BOTTLE-COMPANIONS.
That they should not quarrel and fight with their cups, as is the manner of barbarians.
Is what the Thracians do in spite;
Let Bacchus know no barb'rous customs here,
But keep the modest God from bloody discord clear.
Can such strange contraries agree,
As wine and lights in social glee,
And sabres such as savage Media wears—
Cease your vile noise, my friends, nor quit your easy chairs.
Me too!—shall I your revels join,
And sour my good Falernian wine?—
No, let the brother of the Locrian fair,
Rather his lovesick joys, and darling flame declare.
He will not—On no other plan,
No other terms I take my can—
Whatever damsel e'er thy breast inflam'd,
Was of ingenuous birth, nor need you be asham'd.
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To friendly ears, nor make a doubt.—
“Ah wretch! how thou art hamper'd in a straight,
“A lad, whose matchless worth deserv'd a better fate.”
What sorceress, what magic art,
What pow'r divine can ease thy smart?—
E'en Pagasus to clear thee will be loth
From one compos'd of whimsy , wantoness and wrath.
105
ODE XXVIII.
[Archytas, born to compass land and sea]
Archytas a philosopher and geometrician is introduced remonstrating to a certain sailor, that all must die, and beseeching that he would not suffer his corpse to lie unburied on the shore.
And of the countless sand thy charts to make,
A little boon of dust suffices thee,
Which on Matinian shores thy relicks take.
Nor is there profit in those airy dreams,
When you the houses of the planets try'd,
And the round world determin'd by your schemes,
Since in your death all these grand projects dy'd.
The sire of Pelops in like manner fell,
Tho' with the Gods he feasted in the sky;
Tithonus chang'd into a sauterelle,
And Minos in Jove's secrets wont to pry.
Death too has got Panthoides again,
Tho' having taken from the wall his shield,
He cou'd so well the Trojan times explain,
Nor ought to death but skin and nerves cou'd yield.
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Of truth and nature, as you did presume—
But night, a gen'ral night, its wing displays,
And all at length must travel to the tomb.
The furies some expose to martial rage,
The greedy sailors perish in the wave,
The funerals increase of youth and age,
None from fell Proserpine themselves can save.
Me, e'en Archytas, the outrageous south,
Upon oblique Orion sure t'attend,
Where that Illyric opes her gulphing mouth,
Involved at once in an unlook'd-for end.
But thou, O sailor, do not check thy hand,
Nor grutch on these unburied bones to throw
A little portion of the common sand—
So may the eastern blasts, whate'er you owe,
Whate're they threaten to th'Hesperian floods,
(Thee safe) make Venusinian forrests pay,
And Jove and Neptune, with great store of goods,
Thee to Tarentum's port, in peace convey.
But shou'd you this benevolence neglect,
A fraud about to hurt your sons unborn,
Perchance, a due reward you may expect,
Of equal terror, and of equal scorn.
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And no atonement can thy conscience clear,
'Tis not so much (tho' you're in haste to sail)
To sprinkle thrice the dust in kindness here.
Pythagoras, asserted that his identical spirt, about seven hundred years before, was the soul of Euphorbus the son of Panthous, who was slain at the siege of Troy.
111
ODE XXIX. TO ICCIUS.
It is a marvel almost up to a prodigy, that Iccius the philosopher, laying aside his studies, should take a turn to arms, through desire of riches.
To make th'Arabian wealth your own,
And 'gainst unconquer'd Saba war declare,
And for the barb'rous Mede his future chains prepare.
What virgin, when her love is slain,
Shall be a handmaid in thy train?
And, when thou din'st, what youth from out the court,
Shall stand with essenc'd hair, thy splendour to support?
An archer of paternal craft,
Skill'd to direct the Indian shaft!—
Who now denies but streams their ways may force
Back to the lofty hills, and Tiber change his course,
When you choice books so dearly bought,
On doctrines that Panætius taught,
And your Socratick stock for armour sell,
Whose taste for better things at first set out so well?
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ODE XXX. TO VENUS.
He requests the goddess to come to the temple, which Glycera had dedicated to her.
Leave Cyprus, thou that art the queen
Of Guidus, and the Paphian isle,
And with my Glycera be seen,
Where, in her temple deck't and clean,
With frankincense she courts thy smile.
Of Guidus, and the Paphian isle,
And with my Glycera be seen,
Where, in her temple deck't and clean,
With frankincense she courts thy smile.
With all his ardour bring thy boy,
The nymphs, the graces loose and free;
Youth's goddess too, that has no joy,
With Mercury, whose mirth wou'd cloy,
Without thine influence and thee.
The nymphs, the graces loose and free;
Youth's goddess too, that has no joy,
With Mercury, whose mirth wou'd cloy,
Without thine influence and thee.
115
ODE XXXI. TO APOLLO.
He asks not riches of the God, but only a sound mind in a sound body
Upon the dedication day;
What vow prefer to this Phæbean shrine,
While from the bowl he pours the first-fruits of his wine?
Not the rich crop Sardinia yields,
Nor of Calabria's sunny fields
The herds I ask, nor elephants nor gold,
Nor grounds of which still Liris leaves the tale untold.
Let the Calenian grape be press'd
By those whom fortune has possess'd;
Let the rich merchant in gold cups exhaust
The wine, which to replace his Syrian venture cost:
Dear to the Gods, since thrice or more
In one year he can travel o'er
Th' Atlantic sea undamag'd, while with me
Sweet olives, mallows light, and succ'ry best agree.
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But to enjoy what I have got,
And I beseech thee keep my mind intire
In age without disgust, and with the chearful lyre.
So-called from Atlas the highest mountain in Mauritania, which is the extremity of Africa towards the streight of Gades (now Cadiz) beyond which the Romans at that time had but little notion of land.
119
ODE XXXII. TO HIS LYRE.
He addresses his lyre, and requires of it assistance, and that it should not cease to accompany his song.
We've play'd a lesson to remain:
My lyre, the like be now essay'd,
A true Augustan strain.
Thou whom that Lesbian touch'd so sweet,
Tho' with his soldiers arms he bore
Val'rous, or moor'd his shatter'd fleet
Upon the swampy shore.
Yet Venus and her clinging boy,
And wine to musick wou'd he set,
And on fair maids his skill employ,
With hair and eyes of jet.
O pride of Phœbus, grateful shell,
Accepted where the gods regale,
Thou, that can'st sooth my toils so well,
'Tis Horace bids thee hail!
121
ODE XXXIII. TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS.
That he should not grieve out of measure, that his rival was unjustly preferred to him by Glycera.
Tibullus, do not grieve too much,
Nor in soft elegies complain,
That Glycera's caprice is such,
And such her insolent disdain,
That she your junior shou'd prefer,
Who looks more amiable to her.
Nor in soft elegies complain,
That Glycera's caprice is such,
And such her insolent disdain,
That she your junior shou'd prefer,
Who looks more amiable to her.
For Cyrus fair Lycoris burns,
So charming with her little face,
But he the fondling damsel spurns
For squeamish Pholoe's coy embrace;
But sooner shall the goats be join'd
To wolves of fierce Appulian kind,
So charming with her little face,
But he the fondling damsel spurns
For squeamish Pholoe's coy embrace;
But sooner shall the goats be join'd
To wolves of fierce Appulian kind,
Than Pholoe with a filthy rake
Commit adult'ry, heinous sin,
Such mischief Venus loves to make,
Who forms and tempers not akin
Pairs with her cruel brazen yoke,
And acts barbarity in joke.
Commit adult'ry, heinous sin,
Such mischief Venus loves to make,
Who forms and tempers not akin
Pairs with her cruel brazen yoke,
And acts barbarity in joke.
O'er me too in an evil hour
Had servile Myrtale the sway,
A nymph of more tyrannic pow'r
Then Adria in Calabria's bay,
Tho' at that time a fairer maid
And gentler did my heart invade.
Had servile Myrtale the sway,
A nymph of more tyrannic pow'r
Then Adria in Calabria's bay,
Tho' at that time a fairer maid
And gentler did my heart invade.
123
ODE XXXIV. TO HIMSELF.
He repents, that following the Epicureans, he had been wanting in his zeal to the Gods.
In Jove's high temple at the best,
While mad philosophy my mind pursu'd,
I now must shift my sail, and have my course renew'd.
For lo! the sempiternal sire
(Who us'd to cleave with brandish'd fire
The clouds, as I conceiv'd) of late was seen,
With car and thund'ring horses in the clear serene.
Which the still earth and floods that flow,
And horrid Tænarus below,
And those Atlantic bounds compels to quake;
'Tis God, and God alone pre-eminent can make
The depths emerge, the mighty poor;
'Tis he, that brings to light th'obscure—
And fortune, at his bidding takes a crown,
Here proudly sets it up, there sternly throws it down.
125
ODE XXXV. TO FORTUNE.
He beseeches her to look to the preservation of Cæsar, then on the point of going against the Britons.
Fair Antium sounding with thy praise,
Whose influence can exalt the meanest slave,
Or turn triumphant pomps to sorrow and the grave.
Thee the poor farmer's anxious pray'r
Solicits, that his fields may bear;
Thee, mistress of the main, the sailor hails,
As his Bithynian bark o'er Cretan billows sails.
Thee the vague Scythians, Dacian rude,
And cities, nations unsubdu'd,
The Latian fierce for battle far and near,
Thee the barbaric queens and purple tyrants fear.
Let not your hurtful foot displace
The pillar standing on its base,
Nor let the thronging populace rebel,
And roaring out to arms, to arms the state-compel.
Necessity precedes thy band,
With nails and wedges in her hand,
127
With execrable death, the melted lead forgot.
Thee hope, and faith, so scarce, revere,
And cloath'd in white are ever near,
And still themselves of your own train profess,
Howe'er you bilk the great, and change your seat and dress.
The faithless mob and courtezan
Behave upon another plan;
And all your friends, when they have drank you dry,
The burthen they should share, in base desertion fly.
Yet, yet propitiate Cæsar's scheme
On Britain, and the world's extreme,
And all our new recruits, that well might brave,
The eastern continent, and Erythrean wave.
O fie upon the barb'rous times,
Fraternal wounds, and civil crimes,
What has this iron-age refus'd to do!
What have we left untouch'd, that honest hearts shou'd rue!
Our youth, where have they been restrain'd:
What altars are there left unstain'd—
Yet 'gainst the Scythian and Arabian foe
May all our new-forg'd weapons by thy guidance go!
Necessity signifies here the last extremity or death, and things mentioned to belong to her, were all instruments of torture amongst the Romans.
129
ODE XXXVI. TO POMPONIUS NUMIDA.
For whose return from Spain, he rejoices with much exultation.
And fatted calf upon the sacred fire,
The tutelary Gods we bless,
That we our Numida once more caress;
Who safe and sound from farthest Spain,
Dear to a thousand friends, is come again—
And yet to none such love he bears,
With none the fond embrace so warmly shares,
As with lov'd Lamia, mindful still
That they were form'd by one preceptor's skill,
And both together chang'd their gown—
Set the good day in white memorials down;
The ready cask by no means spare,
Nor let your feet the morrice-dance forbear.
Yet Damalis the tippler check,
Lest Bassus she out-drink—the table deck
With store of parsley, many a rose
And lily, that in transient sweetness blows.
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On Damalis, who will not quit her prize;
But her new conquest hugs in hold,
As the ambitious ivies the tall oak infold.
133
ODE XXXVII. TO HIS COMPANIONS.
Whom he invites to indulge their geniuses on occasion of the victory at Actium.
Of men that find their country free
Now, now's the time—now deck the hallow'd shrine,
Like Mars his active priests, and make the temple fine.
Before it was no lawful thing
The long-kept Cæcuban to bring,
While for th'imperial capitol the queen
Ruin and wrath prepar'd, and every deadly scene,
With her contaminated train
Of eunuchs, arrogant and vain,
In hopes to compass every point at last,
Drunk with a long success, and her good fortune past.
But now her rage is somewhat tame,
Since scarce a ship escap'd the flame,
And, tho' at large the Egyptian grape she swill'd,
With real horrors now her frantic soul is fill'd.
For as from Italy she flies,
His urgent oar Augustus plies,
135
Or sportsman hunts the hare trac'd in Æmonian snows,
That he this monster of her kind
Might in coercive fetters bind—
But she, while for a nobler death she tried,
Nor fear'd the hostile sword, nor sought herself to hide.
Then to her downcast court she went,
With look serene, as in content,
And to her gen'rous veins the aspicks laid,
By pre-determin'd death more fierce and desp'rate made.
For the Liburnian fleet, she grudg'd
The fate to which she was adjudg'd,
A woman of her pow'r and pomp allow'd,
In triumph to be dragg'd before the clam'rous crowd.
137
ODE XXXVIII. TO HIS SERVANT.
He would have him bring nothing for the gracing of his banquet but myrtle.
Scoff o' the plaited coronet's refulgence;
Seek not in fruitless vigilance the rose-tree's
Tardier offspring.
Mere honest myrtle that alone is order'd,
Me the mere myrtle decorates, as also
Thee the prompt waiter to a jolly toper
Hous'd in an arbour.
| The works of Horace, translated into verse | |