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 |
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 | The works of Horace, translated into verse |  |
II. VOLUME II.
O carminum dulces notæ,
Quas ore pulchre melleo
Fundis Lyræq; succinis!
Quas ore pulchre melleo
Fundis Lyræq; succinis!
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THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE [Cont'd.].
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ODE XV. ON CHLORIS.
That now being old, she would set some bounds to her impudence and lasciviousness.
At length, methinks, 'tis time
To quit your wicked life,
And each flagitious crime:
You should the better, sure, behave,
Now you are verging on the grave.
Sure now you should desist,
Amidst the brilliant stars,
To spread a gloomy mist:
For decency debars
That 'mongst the maidens you should play,
Like Pholoe the young and gay.
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May rouse up our young rakes,
While Bacchanalian dame
Her timbrel she awakes;
The love of Nothus makes her brisk,
Like goat upon the hill to frisk.
The fair Lucerian fleece
Not rosy wreathes to twine,
Nor harps are of a piece
With such an age as thine;
Nor should an antiquated hag
E'er boast of an exhausted cag.
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ODE XVI. TO MÆCENAS.
All things are open to gold; but Horace is content with his lot, by which he remains in a state of happiness.
With oak, while, howling, upon guard,
Stood dogs, prepar'd to bite,
Had been sufficient, to be sure,
Imprison'd Danae to secure
From rakes that prowl by night:
If Jove, and she of ocean born,
Had not Acrisius laugh'd to scorn,
With all his anxious tribe;
A way they found was fair and free,
When once the god should make his plea,
Transform'd into a bribe.
Gold through the centinels can pass,
And break through rocks and tow'rs of brass,
Than thunder-bolts more strong:
That Argive prophet lost his life,
And was undone, because his wife
Was bought to do him wrong.
The Macedon of such renown,
With gifts the city-gates broke down,
And foil'd his rival kings:
Gifts ev'n can naval chiefs ensnare,
Though rough and honest, they would care
For more superior things.
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And craving never like to cease—
I have myself deny'd
With cause to lift my crest on high,
And with such men as thee to vie,
O knighthood's peerless pride.
The more a man himself refrains,
The more from hea'vn his virtue gains:
I pitch my tent with those
Who their desires, like me, divest,
And, as an enemy profest,
The slaves of wealth oppose.
More noble in my lowly lot,
Than if together I had got
Whate'er th'Appulian ploughs;
And poor amongst great riches still,
The fruit of no mean toil and skill,
Could in my garners house.
A wood of moderate extent,
And stream of purest element,
And harvest-home secure,
Make me more happy than the weight
Of Africa's precarious state
Of empire could ensure.
What tho' nor sweet Calabrian bee
Makes his nectarious comb for me,
Nor Formian wine grows old
Within my cellars many a year,
Though from rich Gallic meads I shear
No fleeces of the fold:
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That makes a man importunate—
If more I should require,
I should not be refus'd by you—
But I must raise my revenue
By curbing my desire.
And better so, than should I add
The Lydian realm to what I had,
And all the Phrygian land;
They that crave most, possess the least—
'Tis well where'er enough's the feast;
Heav'n gives with frugal hand.
Amphiaraus, a Grecian prophet, foreseeing he should die at the siege of Troy, kept himself concealed; but was betrayed by his wife, for the sake of a golden necklace.
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ODE XVII. TO ÆLIUS LAMIA.
He extols the nobility of Lamia—He then advises him to spend the morrow with merriment.
Since by our fathers we were told,
That you from him your family derive,
And diaries that feast each rising year revive.
From him, your fountain-head, you spring,
Who was a most extensive king,
And first the Formian walls was said to found
On Liris for Marica in his current bound.
To-morrow's eastern blast shall speed
To strew with leaves and useless weed
The groves, unless th'old raven's voice be vain,
That witch of rising winds, and of descending rain.
On your glad hearth dry billets raise,
And (while 'tis lawful) let 'em blaze;
Indulge to morrow on fat pig and wine,
And servants call'd from work, with their gay lord to dine.
The Ælian family was very illustrious in Rome, and very numerous—it comprehended likewise the house of Lamia, which did to it distinguished honour on account of its antiquity, insomuch that, if a man was better born than ordinary, he was proverbially called a Lamia.
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ODE XVIII. TO FAUNUS.
He beseeches the sylvan god, that, in traversing his fields, he would be propitious to Horace and his stock.
The nymphs that from thee bound,
Propitious all my fields review,
My sunny haunts—and favour shew
To all my younglings round.
If yearly with a tender kid
Thy presence we invoke,
And if to love and feasting bid,
You daily see th'old altar hid
In wreathes of fragrant smoke.
The cattle on the grassy plain,
Disport in active play;
Both men and flocks at ease remain,
December's nones to entertain,
Which, Faunus, is thy day.
The wolf amongst the lambs is seen,
And by the sheep's defy'd;
Down falls the foliage ever-green,
The delvers dance with joyous mien,
And throw their spades aside.
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ODE XIX. TO TELEPHUS.
He raillies him in a jocose manner, that, describing ancient histories, he neglects things pertaining to a merry life.
Was patriot Codrus, who so bravely fell,
You in your histories compute,
Of Peleus' race, and Trojan wars you tell,
But what a cask of Chian costs,
And who the bath shall temper and prepare,
When I shall 'scape these chilling frosts,
And at whose house, to mention you forbear.
Fill up, my boy, for this new moon,
For midnight, and Muræna's num'rous poll,
Mix liquor handily and soon,
Three or nine bumpers in each toper's bowl.
The bard that loves th'odd-number'd train
Of Muses, takes nine bumpers in his glee.
The grace, with naked sisters twain,
Fearful of wrangling, will admit but three.
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Why cease to blow the Berecynthian horn?
Why hang the pipe and harp so sad?
All niggard hearts and sparing hands I scorn.
Bring roses, bring abundance in,
Let neighbour Lycus, and his blooming girl,
Unfit for Lycus, hear our din,
To mortify that old invidious churl.
At thee, with bushy hair so spruce,
And bright as Vesper, buxom Chloe aims;
Me slow-consuming cares reduce,
As Glycera now checks, now fans the flames.
The last king of Athens, who gave his life for the good of his country. The Lacedemonians being engaged in war with the Athenians, were told by the oracle, that those should get the victory whose general should happen to be slain. Codrus, hearing of this, disguised himself, and went amongst the Lacedemonians, whom he provoked by abuse to put him to death, upon which the Athenians came off victorious.
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ODE XX. TO PYRRHUS.
That he should not force away the beautiful Nearchus from his mistress.
The lioness's cubs to move,
And take her very fav'rite out?
Full soon the plund'rer, none-so-stout,
Th'attack will disapprove.
When he shall pass along the train
Of rakes, that for their mistress stir,
Who shall have best of the campaign,
Shalt thou thy friend to good regain,
Or leave to vice and her?
Mean time, while you the darts acute
Present—she whets her dreadful tooth,
Lo! he degrades beneath his foot
That palm, the price of this dispute,
The long-contested youth,
With his loose locks perfum'd and curl'd,
For sportive zephyrs there to play,
Like Nireus in his form begirl'd,
Or who, from Ida and the world,
To heav'n was snatch'd away.
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ODE XXI. TO HIS WINE-JAR.
He pleasantly admonishes it to pour out old wine for the sake of Corvinus, from whence he takes occasion to commemorate the praises of wine in general.
From Manlius his consulate,
Whether with murmurs, jests, or brawlings fraught,
Or mad amours, or sleep, the kind relief of thought!
Whatever be your long intent,
Choice Massic, worthy to have vent
On a good day, come forth at the behest
Of my Corvinus, come with mellowness and zest.
Not he, tho' forward to imbibe
The lore of the Socratic tribe,
Will brutish scorn thee—Cato, as they say,
Would often warm with wine his virtue and his clay.
To lend to sluggish minds a lift—
And brighten harshness is thy gift—
You take the cares from out a wiseman's breast,
And make our politicians with their secrets jest.
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The horns exalting of the poor,
Who, after he has fairly drank thee down,
Nor heeds the soldiers arms, nor dreads the tyrant's frown.
Bacchus and Venus on the spot,
And graces ever in a knot,
And living lamps shall eke thee out to-night,
Till Phœbus drive the stars with his superior light.
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ODE XXII. TO DIANA.
He consecrates the pine, which hangs over his villa, to Diana, whose offices he celebrates.
And of the woodlands wild,
Who, thrice invok'd, art swift to hear,
And save the maids with child;
This pine, that o'er my villa tow'rs,
And from its eminence embow'rs,
I dedicate alone to thee;
Where ev'ry year a pig shall bleed,
Lest his obliquity succeed
Against thy fav'rite tree.
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ODE XXIII TO PHIDILE.
The gods are to be worshipped with clean hands, and conscience of a well-spent life.
At each new moon the gods appease,
And if a pig you slay, my rustic dame,
And offer your first-fruits with incense in the flame;
Your fruitful vineyard then shall scorn
The Afric blast, nor shall your corn
Be scarce or blighted—nor the fatal stroke,
Amidst th'autumnal plenty reach your little folk.
For the vow'd victim, that is fed
Where Algidum his snowy head
'Midst holms and oaks uprears, or in the mead
Of Alba, must beneath the pontiff's hatchet bleed.
If you the lares crown and clean,
With myrtle and with froth marine,
'Tis not requir'd that such as you and I
Should on our altar cause whole hecatombs to die,
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A sumptuous victim, in that case,
Will not with heav'n more sure acceptance make,
Than mix'd with good intent the little salted cake.
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ODE XXIV. UPON THE RICH AND COVETOUS.
Though richer than the hoarded gainOf Araby and Ind unplunder'd yet,
You of th'Appulian and Tyrrhenian main,
Should with casoons and piers possession get;
If deepest on the highest head
Dire fate his adamantine hooks will drive,
You cannot rid your fearful soul from dread,
Nor from the snares of death escape contrive.
The Scythians have a better lot,
Who dwell in plains, and carry in a cart
From place to place their customary cot,
And those rough Getans, negligent of art,
Whose common acres, unsurvey'd,
Yield corn and fruit, that's bread for all the race;
Nor do they drive the plough, or ply the spade,
Above a year in one continu'd place.
And when their annual toil is o'er,
Another set the vacant lands receive,
Who on the self-same terms with those before,
As they succeed, the prior hands relieve.
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The woman in her innocence will spare;
Nor does the man obey a portion'd wife,
Nor does she make a well-dress'd rake her care.
Their parents great and virtuous fame,
And, cautious, constant chastity's their dow'r.
Thus runs the law: “Keep clear of sin and shame,
“Or death's the wages from offended pow'r.”
O that some sage would rise to quell
Our impious slaughter, and our civil rage,
Fond as his country's father to excel—
So call'd beneath his bust—let him engage
Our monstrous licence to revise—
Fam'd to the latest times—since we, O shame!
Hate virtue, when she's seen before our eyes,
But envious, when she's gone, her worth proclaim.
For what are all these woful cries,
If sin by punishment is not cut off?—
Laws without morals!—Can mere forms suffice
For any thing but vanity and scoff?
If such presumption still subsists,
That neither torrid zone, nor northern pole,
Nor solid snow, that mountain-high exists,
Can terrify the merchant's sordid soul?
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The horrid seas; for in their rough account
Want is disgrace—they rather do or bear
All ills, than virtue's arduous way surmount.
Let us our gold and gems refund,
Source of our woe, into the neighb'ring main,
Or Capitol, where all our ears are stunn'd
With party clamours, and the servile train.
If we are penitent in truth,
The very seeds of vice should be eras'd,
And the too tender spirits of our youth,
And nerves with exercise severer brac'd.
Our noble youth have got no seat
Upon their horse, and fear to urge the chace,
As far more learned in the idle feat
Of Grecian tops, or law-forbidden ace.
Mean time the father's perjur'd heart
Imposes on his partner and his guest,
And hastes to try each method, and each mart,
To make a worthless heir of wealth possest.
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Yet after all their toil and time mis-spent,
They have acquir'd by far too much for peace,
And far too little to insure content.
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ODE XXV. TO BACCHUS.
Roused by an inward goad from Bacchus, he proposes to speak certain new Lyrics concerning Agustus.
Whither, whither am I caught?
To what groves and dens am driv'n,
Quick with thought, all fresh from heav'n?
In what grot shall I be found,
While I endless praise resound,
Cæsar to the milky way,
And Jove's synod to convey?
Great and new, as yet unsung
By another's lyre or tongue,
Will I speak—and so behave,
As thy sleepless dames, that rave
With enthusiastic face,
Seeing Hebrus, seeing Thrace,
And, where feet barbarian go,
Rhodope so white with snow.
How I love to lose my way,
And the vastness to survey
Of the rocks and desarts rude,
With astonishment review'd!
O of nymphs, that haunt the stream,
And thy priestesses supreme!
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Can up-tear the ash-trees tall,
Nothing little, nothing low,
Nothing mortal will I show.
'Tis adventure—but 'tis sweet
Still to follow at thy feet,
Wheresoe'er you fix your shrine,
Crown'd with foliage of the vine.
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ODE XXVI. TO VENUS.
Worn out at length with old age, he takes leave of the lyre and his love affairs.
I made full many a great campaign;
But now my harp and arms, of edge bereft,
Shall hang upon this wall, which rising on the left
In sea-born Venus' temple stands—
Here bring the torches and the brands;
Here bring the wrenching-irons and the bows
Against obstructing doors, so big with threats and blows.
Yet, goddess, of rich Cyprus queen,
And Memphis, where no snow is seen,
Once gently, with thy long-extended whip,
Touch my coquettish Chloe, till you make her skip.
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ODE XXVII. TO GALATEA, ON POINT TO GO ABROAD.
He dissuades her especially from the example of Europa.
Or pregnant bitch, or fox attend,
Or tauny wolf in quest of prey,
All wicked wretches on their way,
And to their journey's end:
Or let a serpent drive them back,
The road swift crossing like a dart,
And terrify the stumbling hack—
For thee I dread no such attack;
But with an augur's art,
In early pray'r I will apply,
That some good-natur'd crow may speed,
And leave the east before the cry
Of brids that bode a stormy sky,
And to their lakes proceed.
O Galatea! be thou blest,
Where'er you choose to take your rout,
And keep my mem'ry in your breast;
Nor raven nor the pye molest
Your course, as you set out.
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How prone Orion moves the seas,
I well know Adrian's gloomy threat,
And how much mischief's to be met
From yonder whit'ning breeze.
May wives and children of our foes
The rising goat's alarm partake;
To the black surge themselves expose,
Which, roaring to the blast that blows,
Makes all the land to quake.
Thus did Europa trust, of yore,
To that false bull her snowy limbs,
And, trembling at her boldness, bore
Her midmost course, where, far from shore,
Full many a monster swims.
She, who of late the meadows knew,
Fair student of the flow'ry bloom,
Wove chaplets to the wood-nymphs due—
Nought now but stars and waves could view,
All in the glimm'ring gloom.
And when she was arriv'd at Crete,
So famous for its hundred towns,
O father! lost and indiscrete,
The daughter's duty to defeat,
She cry'd, in wrath, and frowns.
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A punishment one death would be—
Am I awake, and wail of right?
Or is't a vision of the night,
And I from baseness free?
A vision from the iv'ry gate,
Which brings false fancies to the head—
Say, was it then a better fate
Through the long seas to sail—or wait
Where new-blown flow'rs are spread?
O if I had th'audacious steer
My indignation hates and scorns,
I'd kill him with a falchion here,
And, though he was of late so dear,
Would strive to break his horns.
Shameless I left my father's place,
Shameless I wait the doom of hell—
Ye gods! if any hear my case—
O that I naked, in disgrace,
Might roam 'mongst lions fell!
Before a virulent decay
Shall feed upon my blooming cheek,
While yet there's moisture in my clay,
To be the tyger's tender prey,
With all my charms, I seek.
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Whose passion urges thee to die;
Well did thy girdle thee attend—
Thyself upon this ash suspend,
And with his will comply.
Or if, upon the rocks to split,
Acute with death, you are inclin'd;
To the fierce storm yourself submit—
Unless, perhaps, you should think fit
To ply a task injoin'd,
And live a tyrant's harlot vile,
And bear his queen's imperious tongue—
Thus, as she urg'd her plaintive stile,
Came Venus with perfidious smile,
And boy with bow unstrung—
Anon, when she had jeer'd enough,
She said, forbear your wrath and heat,
Since with his horns, though ne'er so tough,
This bull shall meet a full rebuff,
When you with him shall treat.
Do you not know your fame and fort,
As matchless Jove's distinguish'd dame—
Learn your high dignity at court—
And let the quarter'd world support
Your story and your name.
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ODE XXVIII. TO LYDE.
He exhorts Lyde to pass the day sacred to Neptune merrily, in drinking and singing.
Neptune, on his festal day,
How can we so well exalt?
Lyde, bring without delay
Wine from out our inmost vault;
Thus you, with a fresh resource,
Wisdom's fort shall reinforce.
How can we so well exalt?
Lyde, bring without delay
Wine from out our inmost vault;
Thus you, with a fresh resource,
Wisdom's fort shall reinforce.
Don't you see the day decline?
Yet, as if the sun would wait,
You neglect to bring the wine,
Which is of most pleasant date;
For when Bibulus was chosê,
It was laid to his repose.
Yet, as if the sun would wait,
You neglect to bring the wine,
Which is of most pleasant date;
For when Bibulus was chosê,
It was laid to his repose.
We will sing alternate lays—
Neptune and the Nereids green,
I with lively verse will praise—
You, Latona, pow'rful queen,
And swift-darting Dian's laud,
With your twisted lyre applaud.
Neptune and the Nereids green,
I with lively verse will praise—
You, Latona, pow'rful queen,
And swift-darting Dian's laud,
With your twisted lyre applaud.
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And the end of all to crown,
We will chant the queen of smiles,
Who with harness'd swans comes down
Unto all her fav'rite isles;
And as goddess of delight,
We will deify the night.
We will chant the queen of smiles,
Who with harness'd swans comes down
Unto all her fav'rite isles;
And as goddess of delight,
We will deify the night.
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ODE XXIX. TO MÆCENAS.
He invites him to a chearfal supper, omitting public concerns.
This many a season I forbear
A cask of mellow wine, untouch'd by tongue,
With roses for thy breast, and essence for thy hair.
Dispatch—nor Tibur's marshy meads,
Nor always Esula admire,
Whose sloping soil the eye with verdure feeds,
Nor buildings rais'd aloft by him who slew his fire.
Leave squeamish plenty, and the pile,
Whose structures to the skies presume,
And cease to praise in such a pompous style
The smoke, and wealth, and clamour of your prosp'rous Rome.
'Tis joy, at times, to shift the scene,
As men of wealth and pow'r allow,
And without purple carpets neat and clean,
The poor man's cottage-treat has smooth'd an anxious brow.
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Now Procyon's wrath begins to burn;
Now the mad lion shews his rampant star,
As fiery Phœbus makes the drinking-days return.
Now weary to the stream and shade
Go shepherds with their languid sheep,
Or where Sylvanus spreads his thickest glade,
And on the silent bank vague winds are lull'd asleep.
What regulations best may suit
The state, and for the world you care,
What points the Seres, Bactrians would dispute,
And what discordant Tanais rises to prepare.
Wisely do heav'nly pow'rs th'event
Of future times in night suppress,
And smile when mortal men are too intent
Beyond their reach—Take thought, that moment you possess
To husband—As for other cares,
As with the streaming river's course
Now gliding to the Tuscan sea it fares,
Now wave-worn rocks, and trunks up-torn with rapid force,
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Involving, not without the roar
Of Echo—mountains and th'adjoining wood,
When deluge boils the streams above the peaceful shore.
He, master of himself, shall dwell,
And in a state of joy subsist,
Who every day his heart can fairly tell—
“Why this is life.”—To-morrow with a gloomy mist,
Or brightness Jove may deck the pole,
Yet shall he never take away
The past, or with his utmost pow'r controul
That bliss, the fleeting hours have ravish'd as their prey.
Delighted with her cruel pow'r,
Still trifling insolently blind,
Fortune shifts short-liv'd honours ev'ry hour,
Now good, perhaps, to me, now to another kind.
I praise her while I call her mine;
But if she spread her wings for flight,
Wrapt in my virtue, I her gifts resign,
And court ingenuous want, whose portion is her mite.
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Should with the southern whirlwinds groan,
With wretched pray'rs to deprecate the blast,
Lest in the greedy main my bales be overthrown.
In such a case, my little boat,
For which two oars alone are made,
Should bear me through th'Egean dread afloat,
Fann'd by the gentle breeze, and safe in Castor's aid.
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ODE XXX. TO THE MUSE MELPOMENE.
Horace has gained eternal glory by his lyric compositions.
The permanence of solid brass,
And rais'd to a sublimer height
Than pyramids of royal state,
Which washing rains, or winds that blow
With vehemence, cannot o'erthrow:
Nor will th'innumerable tale
Of years, or flight of time avail.
For death shall never have the whole
Of Horace, whose immortal soul
Shall 'scape the pow'rs of human bane,
And for new praise his works remain,
As long as priest and silent maid
Shall to the Capitol parade;
Where Aufidus in rapture goes,
And where poor Daunus scarcely flows,
Once rural king—I shall be thought
The prince of Roman bards, that brought
To Italy th'Æolian airs,
Advanc'd from want to great affairs.
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Which is to real worth ally'd;
And in good-will descending down,
With Delphic bays my temples crown.
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THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
ODE I. TO VENUS.
Horace is now arrived to that time of day, when he ought to alienate himself from love affairs, and ludicrous verses.
What! again new warfare rage?
Spare me, Venus, treason! treason!
This is not a lover's age.
Now no more my youthful vigour
Good queen Cynara inspires—
Cease to use thy gentle rigour,
Parent fierce of sweet desires.
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Almost fifty—hence depart
To the softer invocation
Of full many a youthful heart.
On more equable condition
Drive your purple swans away,
And put Paulus in commission
At a better time of day.
For he's nobly born, and decent,
Would you fire a worthy breast?
And great instances are recent,
How he pleads for the distrest.
Youth of most accomplish'd merit,
Of an hundred arts and charms—
He shall bear with strength and spirit
Far and wide thy conqu'ring arms.
If he smile at times prevailing
O'er a bribing dupe's disgrace,
With sweet wood thy bust empaling,
He near Alba's lake shall place.
Thine indulgent presence thither
Shall much frankincense invite,
Lyre, and flute, and pipe together
Shall thy ravish'd ears delight.
Twice a day the lads and lasses
There thy praises shall resound,
And with foot that snow surpasses,
Salian-like, shall shake the ground.
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ODE II. TO ANTONIUS JULUS, THE SON OF MARK ANTONY, OF THE TRIUMVIRATE.
It is hazardous to imitate the ancient poets.
With waxen wings, my friend, would fly,
Like him who nam'd the glassy main,
But could not reach the sky.
Cascading from the mountain's height,
As falls the river swoln with show'rs,
Deep, fierce, and out of measure great
His verses Pindar pours.
Worthy to claim Apollo's bays,
Whether his dithyrambics roll,
Daring their new-invented phrase
And words, that scorn controul.
Or gods he chants, or kings, the seed
Of gods, who rose to virtuous fame,
And justly Centaurs doom'd to bleed,
Or quench'd Chimera's flame.
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The wrestler, charioteer records,
And, better than a hundred busts,
He gives divine rewards.
Snatch'd from his weeping bride, the youth
His verse deplores, and will display
Strength, courage, and his golden truth,
And grudges death his prey.
The Theban swan ascends with haste,
Of heav'n's superior regions free;
But I, exactly in the taste
Of some Matinian bee,
That hardly gets the thymy spoil
About moist Tibur's flow'ry ways,
Of small account, with tedious toil,
Compose my labour'd lays.
You, bard indeed! with more applause
Shall Cæsar sing, so justly crown'd,
As up the sacred hill he draws
The fierce Sicambrians bound.
A greater and a better gift
Than him, from heav'n we do not hold,
Nor shall—although the times should shift
Into their pristine gold.
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For our brave chief's returning here,
You shall recite, and all the courts
Of law contentions clear.
Then would I speak to ears like thine,
With no small portion of my voice,
O glorious day! O most divine!
Which Cæsar bids rejoice.
And while you in procession hie,
Hail triumph! triumph! will we shout
All Rome—and our good gods supply
With frankincense devout!
Thee bulls and heifers ten suffice—
Me a calf weaned from the cow,
At large who many a gambol tries,
Though doom'd to pay my vow.
Like the new moon, upon his crest
He wears a semicircle bright,
His body yellow all the rest,
Except this spot of white.
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ODE III. TO MELPOMENE.
Horace was born for poetry, to which his immortality is intirely owing.
He, on whose natal hour you glance
A single smile with partial eyes,
Melpomene, shall not advance
A champion for th'Olympic prize,
Nor drawn by steeds of manag'd pride,
In Grecian car victorious ride.
A single smile with partial eyes,
Melpomene, shall not advance
A champion for th'Olympic prize,
Nor drawn by steeds of manag'd pride,
In Grecian car victorious ride.
Nor honour'd with the Delphic leaf,
A wreath for high atchievements wove,
Shall he be shewn triumphant chief,
Where stands the Capitol of Jove,
As justly rais'd to such renown
For bringing boastful tyrants down.
A wreath for high atchievements wove,
Shall he be shewn triumphant chief,
Where stands the Capitol of Jove,
As justly rais'd to such renown
For bringing boastful tyrants down.
But pleasing streams, that flow before
Fair Tibur's flow'ry-fertile land,
And bow'ring trees upon the shore,
Which in such seemly order stand,
Shall form on that Eolic plan
The bard, and magnify the man.
Fair Tibur's flow'ry-fertile land,
And bow'ring trees upon the shore,
Which in such seemly order stand,
Shall form on that Eolic plan
The bard, and magnify the man.
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The world's metropolis has deign'd
To place me with her darling care,
Rome has my dignity maintain'd
Amongst her bards my bays to wear;
And hence it is against my verse
The tooth of envy's not so fierce.
To place me with her darling care,
Rome has my dignity maintain'd
Amongst her bards my bays to wear;
And hence it is against my verse
The tooth of envy's not so fierce.
O mistress of the golden shell!
Whose silence you command, or break;
Thou that canst make the mute excel,
And ev'n the sea-born reptiles speak;
And, like the swan, if you apply
Your touch, in charming accents die.
Whose silence you command, or break;
Thou that canst make the mute excel,
And ev'n the sea-born reptiles speak;
And, like the swan, if you apply
Your touch, in charming accents die.
This is thy gift, and only thine,
That, as I pass along, I hear—
“There goes the bard, whose sweet design
“Made lyricks for the Roman ear.”
If life or joy I hold or give,
By thee I please, by thee I live.
That, as I pass along, I hear—
“There goes the bard, whose sweet design
“Made lyricks for the Roman ear.”
If life or joy I hold or give,
By thee I please, by thee I live.
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ODE IV. TO THE CITY OF ROME, CONCERNING THE GENIUS OF DRUSUS, AND HIS EDUCATION UNDER AUGUSTUS.
As him, by mighty Jove preferr'dOn high his thunder-bolts to bear,
Deem'd o'er the winged race the sovereign bird,
E'er since he made sweet youth, and innocence his care;
Of old, green years, but strength innate,
Drove him, unskill'd, upon his prey,
And vernal winds, the winter out of date,
Taught him unwonted flights, but not without dismay,
Anon, by vivid impulse sped,
He wages war against the folds,
And by his lust of fight and plunder led,
The curv'd-reluctant snakes within his claws he holds.
Or as a goat in pastures green
Intent, a lion's tawny whelp
(Whom his fierce mother did but lately wean)
Eyes rushing with new fangs, and has no hope of help.
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The Rhœtian and North-Alpine band
Beheld (which latter whence they did assume
With Amanzonian ax long since to arm their hand,
I have omitted to declare,
Nor can we every matter know)
But far and wide victorious as they were,
The young man's wondrous conduct taught them at a blow,
How a well-bent ingenuous mind,
And genius disciplin'd can awe,
Whose plan was in a happy school design'd
By Cæsar, more than father to his sons-in-law.
The brave are gender'd by the brave,
This truth ev'n genuine steers attest,
The manag'd steeds by progeny behave,
Nor are tame turtles hatch'd in yon fierce eagle's nest.
Yet learning inward strength assists,
And education mans the heart;
Refinement by morality exists,
Or else good-nature fails for want of wholesome art.
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The loud Metaurus witness bears,
And vanquish'd Asdrubal—and that fair day
Which clear'd the low'ring gloom from our distress'd affairs.
That day, which many a prize renowns,
First mention'd victory to gain,
When Hannibal fled thro' th'Italian towns,
Like wind that sweeps the sea, or fire that takes the train.
From this desirable event
The Roman enterprizes throve,
And ravag'd, where the Punic plund'rers went,
The temples stood repair'd in every sacred grove;
Until the traitor said at last,
“Like stags, of rav'nous wolves the prey,
“We follow those heroic bands too fast,
“Of whom by craft and flight we solely win the day.
“The nation, which from Troy on fire,
“Held sacred from their numerous woes,
“Brought through the Tuscan seas the son and sire,
“In fair Ausonia's towns from shipwreck to repose,
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“Which in dark Algidus abounds,
“Tho' hurt and damag'd by the frequent stroke,
“Thrives, and exalts his head, aspiring by its wounds:
“Not more increase did Hydra, maim'd,
“Against griev'd Hercules assume,
“Nor was or Thebes, nor was ev'n Colchis, fam'd
“For prodigies, more great, more wonderful than Rome.
“Sunk to the center, they will rise
“More fair, and woe to him that strives;
“From vet'ran victors they will win the prize,
“And send the gallant tale to entertain their wives.
“No more my proud couriers I send
“To Carthage fall'n, ah fall'n! and fled
“Is all our hope; nor fortune is our friend
“(Though once she lov'd our name) now Asdrubal is dead.”
Nothing so glorious in the field,
But Claudius will with ease atchieve;
Whom Jove defends, with prudence for his shield,
Thro' intricate distress and war his way to cleave.
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ODE V. TO AUGUSTUS.
That he would at length return to Rome.
Of Roman greatness! you retard
Now far too long your stay:
That promise of a quick return
You made the House, no more adjourn,
But keep a shorter day.
Restore to this thy native place
The light, good chief, for when thy face,
Like spring, its lustre throws,
The day goes off with more content,
And in a better firmament
A brighter sunshine glows.
As for her son a mother's pain'd,
Above the destin'd year detain'd,
By southern blasts malign,
Beyond Carpathian waves profound,
Where he continues weather-bound,
For his sweet home to pine.
With calculations, tears, and sighs,
And vows, she calls, nor turns her eyes
From off the winding shore;
Ev'n with that fondness these desires
Cæsar his native land requires,
Still wanted more and more.
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Roams o'er the meadows, free from fear,
Ceres yields ampler fruit;
The sailors plow the peaceful main,
And honour, cautious of a stain,
Keeps accusation mute.
Each house is clear of guilt impure,
Example and the laws secure
The heart from filthy sin;
For penalty sticks close to blame;
Our ladies are of peerless fame
For children like their kin.
The Parthian, or with ice congeal'd
Who fears the Scythian in the field,
Or who the monstrous host
That Germany brings forth and sends,
Or who the threats from Spain attends,
While Cæsar keeps his post?
Each Roman sends the sun to bed
On his own hill, and loves to wed
To widow'd elms the vine,
Thence home at night he goes alert,
And thee, as god of his desert,
Invites to grace his wine.
Thee their incessant pray'rs adore,
And large libations on the floor,
Are offer'd to thy state;
Thou with the houshold-gods art join'd,
As Greece her Castor bore in mind,
And Hercules the great.
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To Rome this leisure and relief,
So constant patriots pray;
Thus sober in the morn we cry,
Thus in the night with bumpers high,
When ocean hides the day.
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ODE VI. TO APOLLO AND DIANA.
God, whose dread power the Theban queenFelt for her boastings proud and vain,
And Tityos ravisher obscene,
And Peleus' son, who might have been
High Ilion's fatal bane;
The soldier, braver than them all,
No match for thee was taught to fear,
Though him her child did Thetis call,
And though he shook the Dardan wall,
Arm'd with tremendous spear.
As falls to biting steel the pine,
Or Cypress to the eastern gust,
So he was humbled to resign
His life, extended, and recline
His neck in Trojan dust.
He in no wooden horse disguis'd,
For sacred rites of false report,
The Trojan dupes would have surpris'd,
'Midst feasts and dances ill-advis'd,
In city and at court.
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Alas! alas! the dreadful doom
Had gratify'd his vengeance dire,
And infants burnt with Grecian fire,
Ev'n in their mother's womb.
If not by thee wrought to relent,
And Venus in persuasion skill'd,
The sire of gods had giv'n assent
That for more fortunate event,
Æneas walls should build.
O lyrist, with a master's air,
By whom the sweet Thalia plays,
Which in cool Xanthus lav'st thy hair,
Make thou the Daunian muse thy care,
Enlightner of our ways.
Phœbus, my spirit, taste, and flame,
Gives all the gifts that verse adorn;
From him I have the poet's name—
“Ye virgins of unspotted fame,
“And youths most nobly born,
“Wards of the Delian maid, so fleet
“'Gainst stags and ounces with her bow,
“Take notice of the Lesbian feet,
“And, as the time you see me beat,
“Attend to fast and slow,
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“Latona's darling in your song,
“And her that nightly mends her blaze,
“As shedding her fructiferous rays,
“She rolls the months along.
“Soon when you're marry'd each shall say,
“I too was present to rehearse,
“Upon that memorable day,
“The numbers of th'Horatian lay,
“Skill'd in his mystic verse.”
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ODE VII. TO L. MANLIUS TORQUATUS.
All things are changed by time; one ought therefore to live chearfully.
And leaves adorn the trees;
The season shifts—subsiding to their shores
The rivers flow with ease.
The Grace, with nymphs and with her sisters twain,
Tho' naked dares the dance—
That here's no permanence the years explain,
And days, as they advance.
The air grows mild with zephyrs, as the spring
To summer cedes the sway,
Which flies when autumn hastes his fruits to bring,
Then winter comes in play.
The moons their heav'nly damages supply—
Not so the mortal star—
Where good Eneas, Tullus, Ancus lie,
Ashes and dust we are.
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To this our daily pray'r?
The goods you take to keep your soul in tune,
Shall scape your greedy heir.
When you shall die, tho' Minos must acquit
A part so nobly play'd;
Race, eloquence, and goodness, from the pit
Cannot restore your shade.
For nor Diana's heav'nly pow'r or love,
Hippolytus revives;
Nor Theseus can Perithous remove
From his Lethean gives.
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ODE VIII. TO MARTIUS CENSORINUS.
There is nothing that can immortalize rather than the works of poets.
Goblets to every friend of gold,
And statues of Corinthian mould,
In gratitude I had bestow'd,
Attending to the present mode;
And tripods too, which were the mead,
That Greece her valiant sons decreed;
Nor shou'd you have the meanest prize,
Were I enrich'd with such supplies,
As Scopas or Parrhasius send,
The one his colours skill'd to blend;
The one, whose excellence is known
To cut a god or man in stone:
But I keep no toy-treasures hid,
Nor do you want them if I did:
Your taste is of a nobler flight,
And poetry is your delight;
Which I can furnish, and assign
The merit of the gift divine.
And statues of Corinthian mould,
In gratitude I had bestow'd,
Attending to the present mode;
And tripods too, which were the mead,
That Greece her valiant sons decreed;
Nor shou'd you have the meanest prize,
Were I enrich'd with such supplies,
As Scopas or Parrhasius send,
The one his colours skill'd to blend;
The one, whose excellence is known
To cut a god or man in stone:
But I keep no toy-treasures hid,
Nor do you want them if I did:
Your taste is of a nobler flight,
And poetry is your delight;
Which I can furnish, and assign
The merit of the gift divine.
Not marbles, that the public place
With long inscriptions on the base,
By which returns beyond the grave
New life and spirit to the brave;
Not Hannibal what time he fled,
With threats retorted on his head;
Not impious Carthage, all a-flame,
To greater brightness raise his name,
(Who, when from conquest he return'd,
The title Africanus earn'd)
Than he, who those achievements sung,
Ev'n Ennius from Calabria sprung;
Nor, if our writings shou'd be mute,
Wou'd benefit receive its fruit.
What wou'd the acts of him the son
Of Mars, and what had Ilia done;
If silence, envious of renown,
Had borne their matchless merits down?
The virtue, votes, and pow'rful word
Of bards, have Eacus transferr'd
From Stygian darkness, to the isles
Where happiness eternal smiles.
The muse excepts against the doom
Of meritorious men in Rome.
The muse can bless you to the skies—
'Twas thus brave Hercules cou'd rise
To taste with Jove, a welcome guest,
Celestial fare amongst the rest.
'Tis thus the fam'd twin-stars obtain,
To save ships shatter'd on the main;
Thus, ivy-crown'd, the god of wine
Gives furth'rance to each fair design.
With long inscriptions on the base,
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New life and spirit to the brave;
Not Hannibal what time he fled,
With threats retorted on his head;
Not impious Carthage, all a-flame,
To greater brightness raise his name,
(Who, when from conquest he return'd,
The title Africanus earn'd)
Than he, who those achievements sung,
Ev'n Ennius from Calabria sprung;
Nor, if our writings shou'd be mute,
Wou'd benefit receive its fruit.
What wou'd the acts of him the son
Of Mars, and what had Ilia done;
If silence, envious of renown,
Had borne their matchless merits down?
The virtue, votes, and pow'rful word
Of bards, have Eacus transferr'd
From Stygian darkness, to the isles
Where happiness eternal smiles.
The muse excepts against the doom
Of meritorious men in Rome.
The muse can bless you to the skies—
'Twas thus brave Hercules cou'd rise
To taste with Jove, a welcome guest,
Celestial fare amongst the rest.
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To save ships shatter'd on the main;
Thus, ivy-crown'd, the god of wine
Gives furth'rance to each fair design.
115
ODE IX. TO LOLLIUS.
The writings of Horace will never be lost: virtue, without verse, is liable to oblivion. He will sing the praises of Lollius, whose particular excellencies he likewise commemorates.
Which I in skill but newly found
With voice to correspondent strings ally,
Borne where from far the rocks of Aufidus resound.
Know, that if Homer take the lead,
Yet is not Pindar out of date;
Nor Cean nor Alcean fire recede,
Nor that Sicilian bard's authority and weight.
Nor if of old Anacreon sung,
Has time his sportive lays suppress'd;
Alive are all the notes of Sappho's tongue,
Which too her lyre she play'd, of genuine warmth possess'd.
Helen was not the only fair,
That was enamour'd to admire
Th'adult'rer's golden garb, and flowing hair,
And royal equipage, with all their grand attire.
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Was first that with his darts engag'd;
Nor Troy but once besieged, nor Cretan king,
Nor Sthenelus alone the well-sung contest wag'd.
Not Hector, val'rous as he was,
Nor fierce Deiphobus begun
To bleed and suffer in their country's cause,
Or for a virtuous wife, or for a darling son.
Before great Agamemnon shone,
Heroes there were—but all in night,
Long night, are buried, piteous and unknown,
For want of sacred bards their glories to recite.
Virtue conceal'd is next, I deem,
To bury'd sloth—I will not spare
For ornament, when Lollius is the theme;
Nor suffer so much merit, such a life of care
In black oblivion to be hurl'd—
You, Lollius, have a noble mind;
Skilful and fraught with knowledge of the world,
Equal for all events, or temp'rate or resign'd.
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Forbearing all-attractive gold;
A consul not elected for a year,
But still esteem'd, in fact, that dignity to hold.
Where'er the magistrate prefers
Things honest to his private ends,
And bribing villains with a look deters,
And draws against the crowd, and his fair fame defends
He is not happy, rightly nam'd,
Whom large possessions still increase—
By him more truly is that title claim'd,
Who holds the gifts divine in prudence and in peace;
Who's able hardship to sustain,
And dreads vile actions worse than death;
He for his friends counts any loss a gain,
And for his country's cause will give his dying breath.
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ODE X. TO PHYLLIS.
He invites her to a banquet, upon the birth-day of Mæcenas.
Full nine years old my cellar stows
A cask of good Albanian wine,
And parsley in my garden grows;
For Phyllis chaplets to compose,
Much ivy too is mine:
A cask of good Albanian wine,
And parsley in my garden grows;
For Phyllis chaplets to compose,
Much ivy too is mine:
With whose green gloss you shall be crown'd;
With burnish'd plate the house looks gay,
The altar, with chaste vervains bound,
Craves to be sprinkled from the wound,
As we the lambkin slay.
With burnish'd plate the house looks gay,
The altar, with chaste vervains bound,
Craves to be sprinkled from the wound,
As we the lambkin slay.
All hands are busied—here and there
Mixt with the lads the lasses fly,
The bustling flames, to dress the fare,
Roll up thick smoke, which clouds the air
Above the roof on high.
Mixt with the lads the lasses fly,
The bustling flames, to dress the fare,
Roll up thick smoke, which clouds the air
Above the roof on high.
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But would you know what joy resides
With me, to tempt you at this time—
You are to celebrate the ides,
The day which April's month divides,
And Venus calls her prime:
With me, to tempt you at this time—
You are to celebrate the ides,
The day which April's month divides,
And Venus calls her prime:
A feast observable of right,
Which I more heartily revere,
Than that which brought myself to light,
From whence my patron to requite,
Flow many a happy year!
Which I more heartily revere,
Than that which brought myself to light,
From whence my patron to requite,
Flow many a happy year!
Young Telephus, at whom you aim,
Is not for such as thee at all;
A rich and a lascivious dame
Upon his love has fixt her claim,
And holds him in sweet thrall.
Is not for such as thee at all;
A rich and a lascivious dame
Upon his love has fixt her claim,
And holds him in sweet thrall.
Let blasted Phaeton dissuade
Presumptuous hope too high to soar;
And he a dread example made
By Pegasus, who scornful neigh'd
That he a mortal bore.
Presumptuous hope too high to soar;
And he a dread example made
By Pegasus, who scornful neigh'd
That he a mortal bore.
Things worthy of yourself pursue,
Nor go where vain desire allures;
'Tis lawless to extend your view
To one that's not a match for you—
Hail! crown of my amours!
Nor go where vain desire allures;
'Tis lawless to extend your view
To one that's not a match for you—
Hail! crown of my amours!
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For, after this, I will be free
From every other flame and fair—
Come, learn the song I made for thee,
And join, with charming voice and me,
To banish gloomy care.
From every other flame and fair—
Come, learn the song I made for thee,
And join, with charming voice and me,
To banish gloomy care.
Horace's was a very old altar, so that avet and the obsolete infinitive spargier, are peculiarly happy.
127
ODE XI. TO VIRGIL.
He describes the approach of spring, and invites Virgil to an entertainment upon a certain condition.
Now the breezes fresh from Thrace,
Those attendants on the spring,
Still the sea, yet urge the race
Of the ships upon the wing:
No more the meadows lands are froze,
Nor roar the streams o'ercharg'd with snows.
Those attendants on the spring,
Still the sea, yet urge the race
Of the ships upon the wing:
No more the meadows lands are froze,
Nor roar the streams o'ercharg'd with snows.
Now the bird with mournful scream,
Aye for Itys wont to pine,
Builds her nest, disgrace extreme
Of the great Cecropian line
E'er since, that most horrid treat
She forc'd the lustful king to eat.
Aye for Itys wont to pine,
Builds her nest, disgrace extreme
Of the great Cecropian line
E'er since, that most horrid treat
She forc'd the lustful king to eat.
Swains the thriving sheep that tend,
Thrown upon the mossy sod;
With the pipe their verses blend,
To divert the rural god:
Whom that sweet scene of flocks and hills,
In Arcady, with rapture fills.
Thrown upon the mossy sod;
With the pipe their verses blend,
To divert the rural god:
Whom that sweet scene of flocks and hills,
In Arcady, with rapture fills.
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'Tis the time of drinking hard,
But Calenean would you take,
You must bring a box of nard,
For your entertainment's sake:
No less can wealthy Virgil frank,
As tutor to our youths of rank.
But Calenean would you take,
You must bring a box of nard,
For your entertainment's sake:
No less can wealthy Virgil frank,
As tutor to our youths of rank.
E'en an ounce of that perfume,
Shall a special cask intice;
Which in the Sulpician room
Now sleeps clear of noise and vice:
Fraught with new hopes of cleansing pow'r,
Against the bitter and the sour.
Shall a special cask intice;
Which in the Sulpician room
Now sleeps clear of noise and vice:
Fraught with new hopes of cleansing pow'r,
Against the bitter and the sour.
To these pleasures if you haste,
You must enter with your fee;
You shall not my goblets taste,
By my inclination, free:
As in the rich man's house you fare,
Without contributing your share.
You must enter with your fee;
You shall not my goblets taste,
By my inclination, free:
As in the rich man's house you fare,
Without contributing your share.
But, my Virgil, lay aside
All delay and thirst of gain;
While 'tis lawful to provide,
'Gainst the seats of death and pain:
Let mirth relieve each grave concern,
For folly's pleasant in it's turn.
All delay and thirst of gain;
While 'tis lawful to provide,
'Gainst the seats of death and pain:
Let mirth relieve each grave concern,
For folly's pleasant in it's turn.
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ODE XII. UPON LYCE, AN ANTIQUATED COURTEZAN.
He insults her with extreme bitterness; that now being old, and yet retaining her lustful appetite, she is contemned by the young gallants.
At length they've heard my vows;
You wou'd be beauteous with a beard,
You romp and you carouse:
And drunk, with trembling voice, you court
Slow Cupid, prone to seek
For better music, bloom, and sport,
In buxom Chia's cheek.
For he, a sauce-box, scorns dry chips,
And teeth decay'd and green;
Where wrinkled forehead, and chapt lips,
And snowy hairs are seen.
Nor Coan elegance, nor gems,
Your past years will restore;
Which time to his records condemns,
With fleeting wings of yore.
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That air—where is she, say,
That cou'd my sick'ning soul solace,
And stole my heart away?
Blest! who cou'd Cynara succeed,
As artful and as fair—
But fate, to Cynara, decreed
Few summers for her share.
That crow-like Lyce might survive,
'Till lads shou'd laugh and shout,
To see the torch, but just alive,
So slowly stinking out.
135
ODE XIII. TO AUGUSTUS.
Honours, adequate to the merits of Augustus, cannot be attributed by the Roman senate and people.
Or Romans join'd, with all their souls;
To give th'Augusten worth the honours due,
Grav'd on eternal brass, or written in the rolls.
O thou, the most illustrious prince,
Wheree'r the sun the world illumes;
'Twas thine the rough north Alpines to convince,
What dignity of rank your martial fame assumes.
For by your troops did Drusus rout
The fierce Genaunians, Brennians keen
And, more than once, raz'd many a strong redoubt
They pil'd upon the Alps tremendous to be seen.
Anon, the elder Nero fought
A dreadful fight with your success;
And drove th'enormous Rhetians, quick as thought,
From ev'ry post of war they ventur'd to possess.
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How he bore down the mighty bane
Of souls, resolv'd to die or to be free,
Ev'n as the south attacks the ocean's proud disdain,
While Pleiad, and her sisters, cleave
The clouds, the furious victor sped
Thro' midmost fire, the murm'ring troops to grieve,
And with his warrior horse ev'n there the troops to head.
As Aufidus, that rolls before
Appulian Daunus, is in scorn;
And, like the meadow's lord, augments his roar,
And meditates vastation to the fields of corn.
Thus Claudius, thro' each iron rank
Of these barbarians, forc'd renown;
And, charging first and hindmost, front and flank,
Victorious, without loss, he mow'd their armies down.
With thine advice, and prosp'rous fates—
For, on that memorable day,
When suppliant Alexandria ope'd her gates,
With nought within her courts but terror and dismay.
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Fortune successful in the end
The glory, so long wish'd for, brought about,
And made th'imperial arms their final pow'r extend.
Cantabrians, unsubdu'd till now,
Medes, Indians, with submissive mien;
Thee the vague Scythian honour and allow,
Guard of the Latian name, and Rome the world's great queen.
Thee Nilus, that conceals his fount,
Thee Danube, rapid Tigris fear;
Thee the swoln waves, on which such monsters mount,
'Till British cliffs, remote, the horrid bellowing hear.
The region of th'intrepid Gaul,
And all Iberia's harden'd race;
And thee, their lord, the tam'd Sicambrians call,
And, bloody, as they were, thy terms of peace embrace.
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ODE XIV. THE PRAISES OF AUGUSTUS.
Willing to sing upon my lyre,The fights we dare, the tow'rs we scale;
Apollo bade me check my fond desire,
Nor on the vast Tyrrhenian spread my little fail.
Cæsar, in this thy better age,
Again the fertile fields have throve;
And from proud Parthia's fanes thy godlike rage,
Our standards has retook, and giv'n to Roman Jove.
And Janus' temple too is clos'd,
Good order from the peace deriv'd;
And curbs upon licentiousness impos'd,
Have banish'd vice afar, and ancient arts reviv'd.
From which the Latin name and strength
Of Italy are so increast,
And our imperial glory, breadth and length,
From the sun's western bed have reach'd remotest east.
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Nor civil rage nor active spite,
Can take us from our peace; nor wrath, whose flames
Forge hostile sounds, and states in friendship disunite.
Not those that in deep Danube lave,
Shall now the Julian edicts scorn;
Nor Getans, Seres, or the treach'rous slave
Of Persia, nor the folk upon the Tanais born.
And we on work and festal days,
Amidst our cups of jovial wine;
With wives and children (first with pray'r and praise,
Having made application to the pow'rs divine)
Will, like our sires, in songs of joy,
With many a Lydian air between,
Sing our accepted chiefs Anchises, Troy,
And those descendant heirs of love's indulgent queen.
145
THE BOOK OF THE EPODES OF HORACE.
EPODE I. TO MÆCENAS.
Horace will accompany Mæcenas, going to the Actium expedition against Antony.
You soon your course shall bend,
To face huge vessels tow'ry-stern'd;
Prepar'd to undergo
All perils of the foe,
For Cæsar, as thyself concern'd.
147
For life is sweet with thee,
But on the contrary severe:
What must I peace pursue,
As so enjoin'd by you,
Peace is not peace if you're not here!
Or shall I danger dare,
Altho' forbid my share
Of bold adventure in the van:
With that degree of heart,
As best beseems the part,
Of him that acts up to the man?
Yes, yes I will sustain
Each ill of land or main,
Fell Caucasus, or Alpine snows;
Far as remotest west,
With thee my manly breast,
I will to ev'ry foe oppose.
Perhaps you are to seek,
How timorous and weak,
I with my aid could help you out;
I answer, “less the fear,
“To persons that are near—
“Absence and distance heighten doubt?”
As when she leaves her young,
The serpent's forked tongue,
The bird will fear with more of dread;
Not that her presence there,
Could save her callow care,
Or stave destruction from their head.
149
This voyage would Horace make,
Or any journey or campaign;
Without a view to bow,
More steers to pull my plough,
Upon a more extensive plain.
Or from Calabria's mead,
To turn my flock to feed,
Lucania's marsh when summer reigns;
Or spread my marble cot,
To that ambitious spot,
Which Circe's title still retains.
Your bounty is my store,
Enough for me, and more—
I will not for myself provide;
What, like a rake in taste,
I might profusely waste,
Or like penurious Chremes hide.
151
EPODE II. THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.
A happy man is he,From business far and free,
Like mortals in the golden days;
With steers at his command,
To till his father's land,
Whom int'rest neither plagues nor sways.
Him no dread trump alarms,
To take the soldiers arms,
Nor need he fear the stormy main;
The noisy bar he shuns,
Nor to the levy runs
Of men, whose station makes them vain.
Wherefore he rather joins,
The marriageable vines,
To poplars tall in many a row;
Or prunes each fruitless shoot,
That springs to bear no fruit,
And bids the happier tendrils grow.
Or takes a distant gaze
Of lowing herds, that graze
As in the valley's mead they roam;
Or steer his tender flock,
Or in the cleanly crock,
Lays up press'd honey from the comb.
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With apples mild and plumbs,
That his delightful aspect crown;
What joy to pluck the pear,
He grafted with such care,
And grape of more than purple down.
With gifts select as these,
Priapus to appease,
Or Sylvan, that his bounds defends;
Now thrown beneath a bough
Of aged oak, and now
On matted grass his limbs extends.
Mean while the streams beside,
In their deep channel glide,
And birds within the leafy glade
Upon the branches sing,
With bubbling fountains spring,
The gentlest slumbers to persuade.
But when the troubled air
Is alter'd, to prepare
The seasons of the snows and wet;
With hounds on ev'ry hand,
The wild boar is trepann'd,
Into the interruping net.
Or with smooth-shaven stakes,
A slender toil he makes,
Where greedy thrushes are his prey;
Or tim'rous hare is ginn'd,
Or stranger cranes are thinn'd
The pleasant prizes of the day.
155
Who does not set at nought,
All love's anxieties and cares;
But chiefly if a wife,
Of chaste and virtuous life,
Help in the family affairs.
Such as the Sabine dames,
Or tann'd by solar flames,
Such as the swift Apulian's spouse;
Soon as her lord returns,
Fatigu'd with what he earns,
On sacred dearth the fire to rouse.
And when the kine she's got,
Within the hurdled spot,
She milks their swelling udders dry;
And bringing this year's wine,
From hogshead sweet and fine,
A gratis feast she can supply.
Not oysters fetch'd from far,
Or turbot or the scar,
If a bad wind so well should blow;
To send them from the East,
To deck a Roman feast,
And on our shores their shoals bestow.
Not bustards, or the game
Of Asia would I claim,
In preference my taste to please;
As olives, nicely chose
From out the special rows
Of fittest and most healthy trees:
157
That loves the verdant mead,
Or mallow sov'reign cure esteem'd;
Or lamb, which on the day
Of Terminus we slay,
Or kid just from the wolf redeem'd.
How sweet, amidst this cheer,
To see the sheep appear,
Return'd and sated to the full;
Th'inverted plough to see,
Which oxen o'er the lea,
With languid neck at leisure pull.
To see the servants swarm,
As into ranks they form,
To keep the merry house alive;
The smiling gods to bless
For all this good success,
By which they and their master thrive.
This speech when Alphius made,
That, broker of such trade,
Commencing rustic without doubt;
For all his cash he drew
Then the first wind that blew,
He chang'd his mind and put it out.
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EPODE III. TO MÆCENAS.
He expresses his aversion to garlic, which he eat at Mæcenas's house, and with which he was tortured in the bowels.
To slay his old grandsire in wrath;
Why let him eat garlick (not hemlock is worse)
What stomachs have clowns to their broth?
O what is this poison that's burning within?
Has venom of vipers infus'd
Deceiv'd me! or, as the reward of my sin,
Canidia the viands abus'd!
Medea, beyond all the Argonaut wights,
When she captain Jason bespoke;
She made him take this as an unction of nights,
Before the wild bulls cou'd be broke.
With this she prepar'd certain presents she made,
A desp'rate revenge in her view;
And having Creusa to take them betray'd,
Away on her dragon she flew.
161
Arose such a muggy offence;
Nor did the gift-shirt that poor Hercules wore,
Stick closer or burn more intense.
If ever such stuff you again shou'd affect,
With a trick and a jest in your head;
May your wife, hand to mouth, your fond kisses reject,
Or lie on the post of the bed.
163
EPODE IV. TO VOLTEIUS MENA.
A freed man of Pompey the Great.
Than thou and I each other hate;
O hamper'd with th'Iberian cord!
And galling fetters of thy lord!
What tho' you strut puff'd up with pelf,
That cannot change thy servile self.
As on the sacred way you sweep,
With flowing robes full six ells deep;
Ingenuous scorn do you not trace,
In crowds that turn away their face!
“That wretch, corrected to the quick,
“Until the officer was sick;
“E'en he retains, in his own hand,—
“A thousand rood,—Falernan land;—
“And on the Appian road proceeds,
“Which he wears out with gallant steeds;
165
“In spite of Otho, as a knight.
“Wherefore so many beaks of brass,
“And heavy hulks do we amass;
“'Gainst pyrates, and the servile band,
“With such a fellow in command!”
167
EPODE V. UPON CANIDIA THE SORCERESS.
“But oh, ye pow'rs on high,
“Whichever from the sky,
“Rul'st human nature, land and sea;
“What can this horrid scene,
“These screams and aspects mean,
“All, all so sourly fix'd on me!
“Whichever from the sky,
“Rul'st human nature, land and sea;
“What can this horrid scene,
“These screams and aspects mean,
“All, all so sourly fix'd on me!
“Thee therefore I implore,
“If ever child you bore,
“Lucina present to your pray'r;
“By this vain purple vest,
“By Jove, who must detest,
“And cannot such proceedings spare!
“If ever child you bore,
“Lucina present to your pray'r;
“By this vain purple vest,
“By Jove, who must detest,
“And cannot such proceedings spare!
“Why does your forehead low'r
“On me, with looks as sour
“As step-dames on their sons-in-law;
“Or like wild beasts, that feel
“The torment of the steel,
“Which from their sides they cannot draw?”
“On me, with looks as sour
“As step-dames on their sons-in-law;
“Or like wild beasts, that feel
“The torment of the steel,
“Which from their sides they cannot draw?”
169
When thus, in trembling mood,
The boy had spoke,—he stood,
Of all his noble robes undrest;
A tender form and smooth
And sight enough to sooth
The fierceness of a Thracian breast.
The boy had spoke,—he stood,
Of all his noble robes undrest;
A tender form and smooth
And sight enough to sooth
The fierceness of a Thracian breast.
Canidia, with her hair
Unkempt, as twisted there,
The little snakes infold her head;
Commands the bastard-fig,
That from the graves they dig,
And cypress sacred to the dead:
Unkempt, as twisted there,
The little snakes infold her head;
Commands the bastard-fig,
That from the graves they dig,
And cypress sacred to the dead:
And eggs bedaub around,
From black toad's filthy wound,
And plumes from owl of nightly scream;
With drugs Iolchos sends,
And which Iberia vends,
Whose lands with plenteous poison teem:
From black toad's filthy wound,
And plumes from owl of nightly scream;
With drugs Iolchos sends,
And which Iberia vends,
Whose lands with plenteous poison teem:
And bone, that's snatch'd in spite
From bitch of greedy bite,
When hungry and about to dine;
For all these things, the dame
Prepares a Colchan flame,
The magic powder to combine.
From bitch of greedy bite,
When hungry and about to dine;
For all these things, the dame
Prepares a Colchan flame,
The magic powder to combine.
But Sagana, with gown
Adjusted, up and down
Is sprinkling the avernal dew;
With hair that stands again,
Like urchins of the main,
Or running boar that hounds pursue.
Adjusted, up and down
Is sprinkling the avernal dew;
With hair that stands again,
Like urchins of the main,
Or running boar that hounds pursue.
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Veia, without controul
Of conscience, digs a hole,
And groans at the severe employ
Of sharp laborious spade,
That, when the pit was made,
Therein confin'd the buried boy
Of conscience, digs a hole,
And groans at the severe employ
Of sharp laborious spade,
That, when the pit was made,
Therein confin'd the buried boy
Might famish at the look,
Of dainties that they cook,
And vary thrice a day the board;—
His body hid as far
In earth, as swimmers are
In streams, when to their chin they ford.
Of dainties that they cook,
And vary thrice a day the board;—
His body hid as far
In earth, as swimmers are
In streams, when to their chin they ford.
That his exhausted pith,
And liver dry therewith,
For a love-potion might suffice;
When settled on the food,
They baffle and elude,
The wasting pupils of his eyes.
And liver dry therewith,
For a love-potion might suffice;
When settled on the food,
They baffle and elude,
The wasting pupils of his eyes.
That Folia too did come,
E'en from Ariminum,
With lust of masculine excess;
In towns both small and great,
As well as in the prate
Of idle Naples was the guess.
E'en from Ariminum,
With lust of masculine excess;
In towns both small and great,
As well as in the prate
Of idle Naples was the guess.
A witch, whose magic art,
Can make the stars to start,
At sounds Thessalian, from their spheres;
And lunar orb can force,
To quit her heav'nly course,
When her inchanting voice she hears.
Can make the stars to start,
At sounds Thessalian, from their spheres;
And lunar orb can force,
To quit her heav'nly course,
When her inchanting voice she hears.
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Canidia then in dumps,
Biting, with her green stumps,
Her thumb, whose nail was never par'd;
What said she, or what not?
“O, conscious on the spot,
“Of all these deeds that we have dar'd.
Biting, with her green stumps,
Her thumb, whose nail was never par'd;
What said she, or what not?
“O, conscious on the spot,
“Of all these deeds that we have dar'd.
“Dian and night serene,
“That rule the silent scene,
“What time our mystic blazes burn;—
“Now, now present your face,
“And on each hostile place,
“Your pow'r and your resentment turn.
“That rule the silent scene,
“What time our mystic blazes burn;—
“Now, now present your face,
“And on each hostile place,
“Your pow'r and your resentment turn.
“In gloomy glades of dread,
“While now wild beasts are sped,
“Indulging as they sweetly doze;
“Set all the dogs to bark,
“At yon old lech'rous spark,
“And to the gen'ral laugh expose.
“While now wild beasts are sped,
“Indulging as they sweetly doze;
“Set all the dogs to bark,
“At yon old lech'rous spark,
“And to the gen'ral laugh expose.
“With nard, bedaub'd as rich
“As essences, the which
“These toiling hands of mine distill;—
“Hah! what does magic ail!
“Why do these charms avail!
“Less than the fell Medea's skill!
“As essences, the which
“These toiling hands of mine distill;—
“Hah! what does magic ail!
“Why do these charms avail!
“Less than the fell Medea's skill!
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“With which empower'd to sate
“Her vengeance, wrath, and hate,
“Great Creon flying she defy'd;
“And with her poison'd cloak,
“Consum'd in fire and smoak,
“Creusa, Jason's other bride.
“Her vengeance, wrath, and hate,
“Great Creon flying she defy'd;
“And with her poison'd cloak,
“Consum'd in fire and smoak,
“Creusa, Jason's other bride.
“Yet neither herb nor root,
“Of magical repute,
“Have scap'd me by their craggy site;—
“He sleeps in beds perfum'd,
“By harlots thither doom'd,
“Thoughtless of me to pass the night.
“Of magical repute,
“Have scap'd me by their craggy site;—
“He sleeps in beds perfum'd,
“By harlots thither doom'd,
“Thoughtless of me to pass the night.
“Ah! ah! he walks at large,
“And has his free discharge,
“Fresh from a greater wheedler's arms;
“Varus, I will pursue,
“O wretch about to rue,
“Pursue thee with unheard of charms.
“And has his free discharge,
“Fresh from a greater wheedler's arms;
“Varus, I will pursue,
“O wretch about to rue,
“Pursue thee with unheard of charms.
“Again, for me inclin'd,
“You shall return, nor find
“Your poor lost wits by Marsian spells;
“A greater, greater bane,
“Of philters will I strain,
“The more your nice disgust rebels.
“You shall return, nor find
“Your poor lost wits by Marsian spells;
“A greater, greater bane,
“Of philters will I strain,
“The more your nice disgust rebels.
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“And sooner heav'n shall go,
“To place itself below
“The sea, with earth upon the stars;
“Then you shall not desire,
“My love with such a fire,
“As burns this pitch within the bars.”
“To place itself below
“The sea, with earth upon the stars;
“Then you shall not desire,
“My love with such a fire,
“As burns this pitch within the bars.”
At this the boy no more
Intreated, as before,
The impious hags with gentle tone;—
But doubtful, where to make
His preface, thus he spake
The curse Thyestes well might own.
Intreated, as before,
The impious hags with gentle tone;—
But doubtful, where to make
His preface, thus he spake
The curse Thyestes well might own.
“Your poys'nous drugs are strong,
“Confounding right and wrong,
“Yet nature cannot be destroy'd;
“Such curses I will urge,
“No sacrifice can purge,
“And no atonement render void.
“Confounding right and wrong,
“Yet nature cannot be destroy'd;
“Such curses I will urge,
“No sacrifice can purge,
“And no atonement render void.
“And when I shall expire,
“So destin'd by your ire,
“I'll be a fury in the dark;
“And with my crooked claws,
“I'll come to maim your jaws,
“(Such pow'r have ghosts) with many a mark.
“So destin'd by your ire,
“I'll be a fury in the dark;
“And with my crooked claws,
“I'll come to maim your jaws,
“(Such pow'r have ghosts) with many a mark.
“And lying on your breast,
“I will deprive of rest
“Your eyes, by filling them with fear;
“And crowds, from town to town,
“Shall join to knock you down,
“Obscene old witches, far and near.
“I will deprive of rest
179
“And crowds, from town to town,
“Shall join to knock you down,
“Obscene old witches, far and near.
“Your bodies after all,
“Depriv'd of funeral,
“Wolves and Esquilian birds shall share;
“Your horrors and your cries,
“My parents ears and eyes,
“Shall glut, surviving me their heir.”
“Depriv'd of funeral,
“Wolves and Esquilian birds shall share;
“Your horrors and your cries,
“My parents ears and eyes,
“Shall glut, surviving me their heir.”
The prælexta, which young noblemen wore, was ornamented with purple; for the lad here introduced is supposed to be of rank, in order to aggravate Canidia's barbarity.
181
EPODE VI. AGAINST CASSIUS SEVERUS.
An abusive and petulant Poet.
'Gainst wolves, a base mongrel, thou cur;
Come here, if you chuse it, and snarl out your best,
For the kick and the bite I confer.
For like a staunch mastiff, or guard of the sheep,
A Spartan in colour and breed;
Thro' the snows, ears erect, be they never so deep,
I will urge all wild beasts that precede.
You, when with fierce barking you fill'd all the field,
Kept smelling at bones on your plate;—
Have a care, have a care, of the weapon I wield,
For villains exasp'rate my hate.
183
Or he that made Bupalus die;
Shall I, when such mischief's by virulence done,
Do nought but be boyish and cry?
185
EPODE VII. TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE.
His detestation of the civil war carried on the one side by Brutus and Cassius, and on the other by Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus.
And hands upon the sheathed swords again;
Is there too little blood profusely spilt,
Of Romans on the land and in the main?
And this—not that our army to the ground,
With flames invidious Carthage should deface;
Or that unconquer'd Britons, tied and bound,
Shou'd up the sacred hill the triumph grace.
But that our Rome, to please the Parthian foe,
By her own prowess shou'd be undermin'd;
A folly neither wolves nor lions know,
Save against beasts of a discordant kind.
187
Give instant answer—what can be the cause!
They're silent, and their cheeks are deadly pale,
As with intense stupidity they pause.
Know then fatality severe, and dread
With conscious guilt of fratricide's our own;
E're since the blood of harmless Rhemus shed,
Was left for his descendants to atone.
189
EPODE VIII. TO MÆCENAS.
He has a foretaste of that pleasure, which he shall perceive from Augustus his victory over Antony and Cleopatra.
This Cæcuban hoarded for thee;
(At Cæsar's great conquest my spirits in tune)
Shall Jove for our banquet decree?
While Doric and Phrygian concertos are play'd,
Upon the shrill pipes and the lyre;
As lately when Neptune's sham-son was dismay'd,
And fled with his ships all a-fire.
But first he had threaten'd all Rome to subdue,
Till to the same yoke they shou'd bend
He took from the slaves to their masters untrue,
Professing himself for their friend.
Yet still cou'd a Roman, whom frail beauty charms,
(The fact may our children gainsay)
Most slavishly bear palisadoes and arms,
And e'en haggar'd eunuchs obey!
191
That in gallant order arose;
The sun a rich canopy blush'd to behold,
With squabs for luxurious repose.
The Gaul upon this, with two thousand fine horse,
For Cæsar with shoutings decreed;
And their navy's left wing, struck with dread and remorse,
To port made the best of their speed.
O triumph! you loiter the heifer to bring,
You loiter to bring the gilt car;
O triumph! you brought us Jugurtha the king,
But Cæsar's inferior by far.
Nor, from that long African war, did you crown
A chief of more excellent name;
Tho' Scipio has got him eternal renown,
By Carthage the tomb of his fame.
Our enemies, vanquish'd by land and by sea,
Have strip'd their red coats from their back;
And with the most dismal event to agree,
Have cloath'd all their soldiers in black.
And Antony now is a making for Crete,
(An hundred fair cities she boasts)
Or is on the Syrtes wind-bound with his fleet,
Or on some strange region he coasts.
193
Or fill'd with right Lesbian wine;
Or Cæcuban, which may this sickness defeat,
Give always good measure for mine!
For anxious concern for great Cæsar's affairs,
Which each honest citizen racks;
'Tis better with wine (as your Horace declares)
With the very best wine to relax.
Young Pompey, upon the strength of his father's naval atchievements, called himself the son of Neptune.
195
EPODE IX. AGAINST MÆVIUS THE POET.
Horace wishes he may be ship-wrecked.
With fœtid Mævius 'mongst the crew;
Good blust'ring south remember me,
And with rough waves her course pursue.
And fore and aft her sides assail,
Let east, the wind of black despair
With floods turn'd upside down prevail,
And oars and ropes in pieces tear.
Let north too rage, from mountains high,
As when the trembling oaks are rent;
Nor friendly star a ray supply,
Upon Orion's dread descent.
No gentler breeze their fleet convoy,
Than what the conq'ring Grecians knew;
When Pallas turn'd her rage from Troy
On Ajax, as the ruffian's due.
197
What woeful paleness in your cheeks;
What pray'rs to Jupiter averse,
And what extreme unmanly shrieks.
When roaring to the dark south-west,
The shallows of th'Ionian bay
Shall leave your mastless deck distress'd,
And break your very keel away.
But if, upon the winding shore,
Your foulness shall the gulls delight;
With kid and lamb I will adore
The tempests, as denouncing right.
199
EPODE X. TO PETTIUS, A BON-COMPANION OF HIS.
O Pettius, I delight no moreTo scribble verses, as of yore,
With am'rous pains enslav'd;
This third December now has stole
The leaves from Sylvan, since my soul
For fair Inachia rav'd.
Ah me! for I'm asham'd of that,
How much I've fill'd the common chat,
And for their feasts I grieve;
Where listlessness and silence spoke
The lover, and such sighs I broke,
As I cou'd hardly heave.
And oft to you I wou'd complain,
How the poor man's ingenious vein,
With fortune had no share;
Soon as the frontless God of wine,
Had wrought upon this breast of mine,
To lay its secrets bare.
201
To give these love-tricks to the gale,
Which fan, not sooth the flame;
Then that false shame shall be a jest,
Of coming off the second best,
With men of greater name.
When thus pot-valiant and austere,
This speech I cited in your ear—
Advis'd to clear the coast;
I stagger'd homewards, to attack
My fair-one's door, and broke my back
And ribs against the post.
203
EFODE XI. TO HIS HUMOUROUS FRIENDS, THAT THEY WOULD PASS THE WINTER MERRILY.
The skies with horrid tempests frown,And even in snow and rain come down,
The woods and rough profound
Roar with the north wind, fresh from Thrace,
My friends let us the hint embrace,
And while our knees are sound
Let us in seemly sort preclude
The thought of sour solicitude,—
Bring wine of Manlian date;—
All other matters we forbear,
For heav'n, perhaps, these hours of care,
With joy shall reinstate.
Now is the pleasure and the time,
With odours of the Persian clime,
Our bodies to perfume;
And with the Cyllenean lyre,
To ease our breast of horrors dire,
Lest they our frames consume.
Thus the great Centaur to his ward,
Sung lectures, “O unconquer'd lord,
205
“The land of Phrygia thee expects,
“Where cool Scamander's stream directs
“Its course, and Simois flows.
“From whence (the fates have spun it so)
“You shall not be allow'd to go
“Home with your blue-ey'd queen;
“There thou the ills of every day,
“With musick and with wine, allay
“Th'alloquial charms of spleen.”
207
EPODE XII. TO MÆCENAS.
Taken up with his love for Phryne, he cannot finish the promised Iambics.
Have wrought upon my wits,
And in oblivion sunk each sense;
As I had drank too deep
Of Lethe, bringing sleep
With greediness of thirst intense.
Mæcenas, candid knight,
Your questions kill me quite;—
The God of love has un-bespoke
The strains I promis'd you,
Nor may I them review,
Nor give the master's final stroke.
You too are all aflame,
And by as bright a dame
As fir'd the tow'rs of Troy—rejoice—
Me Phryne, just made free,
Wounds; tho', for more than me,
She gives her person and her voice.
209
EPODE XIII. TO HIS MISTRESS NEÆRA
Of whose perjury he makes complaint.
When Luna shone serene,
Midst stars in lesser order trib'd;
When you, about to break
The league of Gods, didst speak
The form of words that I prescrib'd.
And round my neck you flung
Your pliant arms, and clung
With more tenacious fond embrace;
Than to the lofty oak
The ivy—while you spoke,
And vow'd your vow upon the place.
“While wolf the lamb devours,
“And while Orion low'rs
“On sailors in the wintry sea;
“And while Apollo's hair,
“Flows to the sportive air,
“This love of ours shou'd mutual be!”
O nymph about to pine,
For these resolves of mine;
For if my manhood yet remain,
I will no rival bear,
Neæra's bed to share,
But love shall seek for love again.
211
With her, who gave offence,
My flame with any new desire;
When once the rankling smart,
Has setled in my heart,
And fix'd me in determin'd ire.
But you, whoe'er you are,
Of more propitious star,
That strut'st triumphant o'er my woe;
Tho' rich in land and stock,
And by your feeding flock,
For thee in gold Pactolus flow.
Tho' thou canst con each page,
Of that transmuted sage,
Than Nireus handsomer appear;
Yet thou shalt soon lament,
A similar event,
And I in turn shall laugh and sneer.
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EPODE XIV. TO THE PEOPLE OF ROME.
His commiseration with the Republic on account of the civil wars.
And Rome is ruin'd by her own strong hand;
Whom nor the neighb'ring Marsians cou'd defeat,
Nor threat'ning Porsena's Etruscan band.
Nor Spartacus, nor Capua's rival boasts,
Nor innovating Allobrox cou'd worst;
Nor rough Germania, with her blue-ey'd hosts,
Nor Hannibal by Roman parents curst.
But we destroy her, the vile race she bred,
And beasts again shall seize upon the ground;
Barbarian chiefs shall on her ashes tread,
And with their horses hoofs her streets shall sound.
And Romulus his bones (dread sight to see!)
They shall disperse now kept from wind and sun;
Perhaps you all, or a majority,
Wou'd learn which way this dire distress to shun.
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And execrating did their place forsake;
And left fields, houses, temples for their foes,
And for the bears or rav'nous wolves to take.
To go where'er our feet, where'r the wind
Or south or rude south-west shall us convey;
Can any a more apt expedient find,
The voyage looks fair, why do we yet delay?
But let us first to these conditions swear,
That stones shall swim emerging from the deep;
Or Po, ere any to return shall dare,
Matinian summits in his streams shall steep.
And to the main high Apennine remove,
And join new monsters in the lustful fit;
Until the kite adulterate the dove,
And to the stags the tigresses submit.
Nor tawny lion the weak flocks elude,
And shaven goats in the salt wave delight;
This, and whate'er assertion may preclude,
Our sweet return let us, all Rome, recite.
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The soft and hopeless on their couches lie;—
But cease effeminate grief each noble heart,
And fly the Tuscan shores, set sail and fly.
Circumfluent ocean waits us,—steer the fleet
To plains, the happy plains and blessed isle;
Where earth untill'd each year supplies the wheat,
And undrest vine-trees wear a lasting smile.
Her bud the never-failing olive fills,
And the black figs their native branches grace;—
From hollow oaks flows honey,—and the rills
Down lofty mountains leap with tinkling pace.
She-goats, unbidden, seek the milk-pail there,
And kindly flocks, full-udder'd, homeward speed;
Nor round the sheep-coat growls the ev'ning bear,
Nor adders lurk beneath th'unshaven mead!
And still on stronger beauties shall we gaze,
How the dank east nor lays the bearded ears;
Nor the fat glebe is burnt by torrid rays,
Earth temper'd by the sov'reign of the spheres.
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Nor impudent Medea ever knew;
Nor here Sidonian sailors tack'd about,
Nor here Laertes son's laborious crew.
No murrain hurts the cattle, nor by heat
Of starry influence are the flocks destroy'd;
Jove did these stores for pious souls secrete,
When he the golden age with brass alloy'd.
The golden age he first alloy'd with brass,
With iron next he made the times more hard;
Whence, for good Romans, there shall come to pass
A sure escape, if Horace be a bard.
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EPODE XV. TO CANIDIA.
He begs of her that she would forgive him, and feigns himself to be over-powered by her magic.
I yield, whose force my heart alarms,
And suppliant pray thee by the reign
Of Proserpine and Dian's fane,
Whose pow'r's inexorably fierce,
And by the books of magic verse,
That make the very stars descend
From heav'n, and cite them to attend.—
No more in cursed mumblings deal,
But backward turn th'electric wheel;
The son of Thetis, when implor'd
By Telephus, the man restor'd;
Tho' he with darts oppos'd his way,
And set his Mysians in array.
The corse of Hector meant a feast,
For dogs and ev'ry bird and beast;
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For unction and the fun'ral pyre;
When Priam went, and (hard to tell!)
Before the stern Achilles fell;
The crew of that laborious sage,
Cou'd from their bodies disengage
The bristles of the filthy swine,
Soon as sooth'd Circe gave the sign;
At which their voice and mind, and hue
She did recover and renew:
O lov'd by tars and factors, sure
Enough thou'st giv'n me to endure;
My youthful strength and colour's flown,
With ghastly skin on ev'ry bone;
My hair is with your unguents hoar,
My ceaseless toils are more and more;
Day urges night and night the day,
Nor can my gasping vitals play;
Wherefore I wretched have comply'd,
To own what I before deny'd;
That Sabine charms the breast can pain,
And Marsian dirges split the brain;
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I burn to a more fierce degree
Than Hercules, what time he wore
The shirt besmear'd with Nessus' gore;
More fierce than those Sicilian fires,
Whose wrath from Etna still aspires:
For you your Colchian flames prepare,
Till, burnt to ash, I float in air.
What costs? What issue have you plann'd?
Speak out, I'll answer your demand,
Ready to give whate'er you chuse—
An hundred oxen, or my muse,
If on the lying lyre you please,
To hear such compliments as these.
“You, chaste and good, shall set and rise,
“With golden stars that range the skies:”
Castor and he, the other twin,
Tho' wroth about their sister's sin;
O'ercome by pray'r, restor'd the light
To him they had depriv'd of sight:
And thou (for you can do the feat)
Loose me from this delirious heat.
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And clear of the sepulchral scene;
A prudent woman, that will spare
The nine-days-buried ashes there;
You have an hospitable heart,
Pure hands—can do a mother's part;
And tho' you shou'd be brought to bed,
Preserve your strength, your white and red.
Stesichorus, who had defamed Helen with scandalous verses, was deprived of sight; but afterwards restored, by the divine power of Castor and Pollux.
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EPODE XVI. CANIDIA'S ANSWER
In which she shews that she cannot be pacified by any intreaties, because the poet has made her magical proceedings public.
With listless ears not beaten rocks;
Where waves the wint'ry Neptune throws,
More deaf attend the sailor's woes.
What, unreveng'd, Cotyttian rites,
Which, sacred to luxurious nights,
Do all free intercourse indulge,
Shall you deride and you divulge;
And with my name the city fill,
As priest of our Esquilian still?
What profit, that Pelignian dames
Are richer from my chymic flames;
And that quick poison I contrive,
If thou'rt against my wish alive?
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For fresh and for perpetual pain.
Still pining at the dainty meats,
For ease false Tantalus intreats;
Prometheus, whom the vultur gnaws,
Wou'd also have his torments pause;
His stone too Sisyphus wou'd prize,
Up the high hill; but Jove denies;
To leap from tow'rs on earth beneath,
Or in your breast the sword to sheathe.
Now will you wish, and now will try,
The rope about your neck to tye;—
All this thou shalt attempt in vain,
Thro' tedious grief and sour disdain;—
Mean time I'll on your shoulder ride,
'Till earth shall scarce support my pride:
Shall I (as you who pry'd can prove)
Who make the waxen statues move;
The moon can draw from out her course,
By words of sympathetic force;
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And in the cup love-potions mix;
Shall I my fruitless art bemoan,
Without effect on Thee alone?
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THE SECULAR ODE
For the safety of the Roman empire.
Phœbus and Dian, queen of bow'rs,
Bright grace of Heav'n, the things we pray;
O most adorable of pow'rs,
And still by adoration ours,
Grant us this sacred day.
Bright grace of Heav'n, the things we pray;
O most adorable of pow'rs,
And still by adoration ours,
Grant us this sacred day.
At which the Sybils in their song,
Ingenuous youths and virgins warn;
Selected from the vulgar throng,
The gods, to whom sev'n hills belong,
With verses to adorn.
Ingenuous youths and virgins warn;
Selected from the vulgar throng,
The gods, to whom sev'n hills belong,
With verses to adorn.
O fost'ring god, whose fall or flame,
Can hide the day or re-illume;
Which com'st another and the same,
May'st thou see nothing like the fame,
And magnitude of Rome!
Can hide the day or re-illume;
Which com'st another and the same,
May'st thou see nothing like the fame,
And magnitude of Rome!
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And thou, to whom the pray'r's preferr'd,
The matrons in their throes to ease;
O let our vows in time be heard,
Whether Lucina be the word,
Or genial goddess please.
The matrons in their throes to ease;
O let our vows in time be heard,
Whether Lucina be the word,
Or genial goddess please.
Make fruitful ev'ry nuptial bed,
And bless the conscript father's scheme,
Enjoining bloomy maids to wed,
And let the marriage-bill be sped,
With a new race to teem.
And bless the conscript father's scheme,
Enjoining bloomy maids to wed,
And let the marriage-bill be sped,
With a new race to teem.
That years elev'n times ten come round,
These sports and songs of grave delight;
Thrice by bright day-light may resound,
And where the thickest crouds abound,
Thrice in the welcome night.
These sports and songs of grave delight;
Thrice by bright day-light may resound,
And where the thickest crouds abound,
Thrice in the welcome night.
And you, ye destinies, sincere
To sing what good our realm awaits;
Let peace establish'd persevere,
And add to them, which now appear,
Still hope of better fates.
To sing what good our realm awaits;
Let peace establish'd persevere,
And add to them, which now appear,
Still hope of better fates.
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Let fertile earth, for flocks and fruit,
Greet Ceres with a wheaten crown;
And ev'ry youngling, sprout, and shoot,
Let Jove with air attemper'd suit,
While wholesome rains come down.
Greet Ceres with a wheaten crown;
And ev'ry youngling, sprout, and shoot,
Let Jove with air attemper'd suit,
While wholesome rains come down.
Serene, as when your darts you sheathe,
Phœbus, the suppliant youths befriend;
And all the vows the virgins breathe,
Up to thy crescent from beneath,
Thou, queen of stars, attend.
Phœbus, the suppliant youths befriend;
And all the vows the virgins breathe,
Up to thy crescent from beneath,
Thou, queen of stars, attend.
If Rome be yours, and if a band
Of Trojans safely came by sea;
To coast upon th'Etrurian strand,
And change their city and their land,
By your supreme decree.
Of Trojans safely came by sea;
To coast upon th'Etrurian strand,
And change their city and their land,
By your supreme decree.
For whom, unhurt, thro' burning Troy
The chaste Æneas way cou'd find;
He whom the foes could not destroy,
But liv'd to make his friends enjoy,
More than they left behind.
The chaste Æneas way cou'd find;
He whom the foes could not destroy,
But liv'd to make his friends enjoy,
More than they left behind.
—Ye gods, our youth in morals train,
With sweet repose old age solace;
On Rome, in general, O rain
All circumstance, increase, and gain,
Each glory and each grace.
With sweet repose old age solace;
On Rome, in general, O rain
All circumstance, increase, and gain,
Each glory and each grace.
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And he whose beeves were milky white,
When to your shrine his pray'rs appeal'd;
Of Venus and Anchises hight,
O let him reign supreme in fight,
But mild to them that yield.
When to your shrine his pray'rs appeal'd;
Of Venus and Anchises hight,
O let him reign supreme in fight,
But mild to them that yield.
By sea and land, the Parthians now
Our arms and ax with dread review;
For terms of peace the Scythians bow,
And, lately arrogant of brow,
To us the Indians sue.
Our arms and ax with dread review;
For terms of peace the Scythians bow,
And, lately arrogant of brow,
To us the Indians sue.
Now public faith and honour dare,
With ancient modesty and peace;
To shew their heads, and virtue rare,
And she that's wont her horn to bear,
With plentiful increase.
With ancient modesty and peace;
To shew their heads, and virtue rare,
And she that's wont her horn to bear,
With plentiful increase.
The archer with his shining bow,
The seer that wins each muse's heart;
Phœbus, who respite can bestow,
To limbs in weakness and in woe,
By his salubrious art.
The seer that wins each muse's heart;
Phœbus, who respite can bestow,
To limbs in weakness and in woe,
By his salubrious art.
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If, built on Palatine, the height
Of his own towrs his eyes engage;
The Roman and the Latian state,
Extend he to a longer date,
And still a better age!
Of his own towrs his eyes engage;
The Roman and the Latian state,
Extend he to a longer date,
And still a better age!
And may Diana, who controuls
Mount Algidus and Aventine;
To those great men that keep the rolls,
And to the youths that lift their souls,
A gracious ear incline!
Mount Algidus and Aventine;
To those great men that keep the rolls,
And to the youths that lift their souls,
A gracious ear incline!
That Jove, and all the gods, will bless
Our pray'rs, good hope my thoughts forebode;
THE CHORUS, who such skill possess,
Phœbus and Dian to address,
In this thanksgiving ode.
Our pray'rs, good hope my thoughts forebode;
THE CHORUS, who such skill possess,
Phœbus and Dian to address,
In this thanksgiving ode.
------ Ego diis amicum
Reddidi carmen docilis modorum
Vetis Horatî.
Reddidi carmen docilis modorum
Vetis Horatî.
[_]
In order to exercise the student in the Horatian measures, and at the same time (as I trust) to give him no mean entertainment, I have subjoined my translation of Mr. Pope's Ode on St. Cecilia's day, written when I was a youth, and for which I had the honour of a very handsome letter of thanks from that celebrated Author.
ODE ON SAINT CECILIA'S DAY
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I.
Descend, ye nine! descend and sing;The breathing instruments inspire,
Wake into voice each silent string,
And sweep the sounding lyre!
In a sadly-pleasing strain,
Let the warbling lute complain:
Let the loud trumpet sound,
'Till the roofs all around
The shrill echoes rebound:
While in more lengthen'd notes and slow,
The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow.
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Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rise,
And fill with spreading sounds the skies;
Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats;
'Till by degrees, remote and small,
The strains decay,
And melt away,
In a dying, dying fall.
II.
By music minds an equal temper know,Nor swell too high, nor sink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft assuasive voice applies;
Or when the soul is press'd with cares,
Exalts her in enliv'ning airs.
Warriors she fires with animated sounds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouses from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
List'ning envy drops her snakes:
Intestine war no more our passions wage,
And giddy factions hear away their rage.
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III.
But when our country's cause provokes to arms,How martial music every bosom warms!
So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas,
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,
While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main:
Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Enflam'd with glory's charms;
Each chief his sev'n-fold shield display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade,
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound,
To arms, to arms, to arms!
IV.
But when thro' all th'infernal bounds,Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds,
Love, strong as death, the poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What sounds were heard,
What scenes appear'd,
O'er all the dreary coasts!
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Dismal screams,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,
Sullen moans,
Hollow groans,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And see! the tortur'd ghosts respire,
See, shady forms advance!
Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,
And the pale spectres dance!
The furies sink upon their iron beds,
Aud snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their heads.
V.
By the streams that ever flow,By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th'Elysian flow'rs,
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of asphodel,
Or amaranthine bow'rs,
By the heroes armed shades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades,
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
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Oh take the husband, or return the wife!
He sung, and hell consented
To hear the poet's prayer;
Stern Proserpine relented
And gave him back the fair.
Thus song cou'd prevail
O'er death and o'er hell,
A conquest how hard and how glorious!
Tho' fate had fast bound her,
With Styx nine times round her,
Yet music and love were victorious.
VI.
But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes:Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,
Beside the fall of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders
Rolling in mæanders,
All alone
Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan,
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever lost!
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Despairing, confounded,
He trembles, he glows
Amidst Rhodope's snows;
See, wild as the winds, o'er the desart he flies;
Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals cries—
—Ah! see he dies!
Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung,
Eurydice still trembled on his tongue,
Eurydice the woods,
Eurydice the floods,
Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.
VII.
Music the fiercest grief can charm,And fate's severest rage disarm:
Music can soften pain to ease,
And make despair and madness please:
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her maker's praise confin'd the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th'immortal pow'rs incline their ear,
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire;
And angels lean from heav'n to hear.
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To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv'n;
His numbers rais'd a shade from hell,
Her's lift the soul to heav'n.
| The works of Horace, translated into verse | |