There are some, whose one task it is to chant in endless verse the city
of spotless Pallas, and to prefer the olive culled from every side, to
every other leaf.
of spotless Pallas, and to prefer the olive culled from every side, to
every other leaf.
Horace - Works
THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
ODE I.
TO MAECENAS.
Maecenas, descended from royal ancestors, O both my protection and my
darling honor! There are those whom it delights to have collected
Olympic dust in the chariot race; and [whom] the goal nicely avoided by
the glowing wheels, and the noble palm, exalts, lords of the earth, to
the gods.
This man, if a crowd of the capricious Quirites strive to raise him to
the highest dignities; another, if he has stored up in his own granary
whatsoever is swept from the Libyan thrashing floors: him who delights
to cut with the hoe his patrimonial fields, you could never tempt, for
all the wealth of Attalus, [to become] a timorous sailor and cross the
Myrtoan sea in a Cyprian bark. The merchant, dreading the south-west
wind contending with the Icarian waves, commends tranquility and the
rural retirement of his village; but soon after, incapable of being
taught to bear poverty, he refits his shattered vessel. There is
another, who despises not cups of old Massic, taking a part from the
entire day, one while stretched under the green arbute, another at the
placid head of some sacred stream.
The camp, and the sound of the trumpet mingled with that of the clarion,
and wars detested by mothers, rejoice many.
The huntsman, unmindful of his tender spouse, remains in the cold air,
whether a hart is held in view by his faithful hounds, or a Marsian boar
has broken the fine-wrought toils.
Ivy, the reward of learned brows, equals me with the gods above: the
cool grove, and the light dances of nymphs and satyrs, distinguish me
from the crowd; if neither Euterpe withholds her pipe, nor Polyhymnia
disdains to tune the Lesbian lyre. But, if you rank me among the lyric
poets, I shall tower to the stars with my exalted head.
* * * * *
ODE II.
TO AUGUSTUS CAESAR
Enough of snow and dreadful hail has the Sire now sent upon the earth,
and having hurled [his thunderbolts] with his red right hand against the
sacred towers, he has terrified the city; he has terrified the nations,
lest the grievous age of Pyrrha, complaining of prodigies till then
unheard of, should return, when Proteus drove all his [marine] herd to
visit the lofty mountains; and the fishy race were entangled in the elm
top, which before was the frequented seat of doves; and the timorous
deer swam in the overwhelming flood. We have seen the yellow Tiber, with
his waves forced back with violence from the Tuscan shore, proceed to
demolish the monuments of king [Numa], and the temples of Vesta; while
he vaunts himself the avenger of the too disconsolate Ilia, and the
uxorious river, leaving his channel, overflows his left bank,
notwithstanding the disapprobation of Jupiter.
Our youth, less numerous by the vices of their fathers, shall hear of
the citizens having whetted that sword [against themselves], with which
it had been better that the formidable Persians had fallen; they shall
hear of [actual] engagements. Whom of the gods shall the people invoke
to the affairs of the sinking empire? With what prayer shall the sacred
virgins importune Vesta, who is now inattentive to their hymns? To whom
shall Jupiter assign the task of expiating our wickedness? Do thou at
length, prophetic Apollo, (we pray thee! ) come, vailing thy radiant
shoulders with a cloud: or thou, if it be more agreeable to thee,
smiling Venus, about whom hover the gods of mirth and love: or thou, if
thou regard thy neglected race and descendants, our founder Mars, whom
clamor and polished helmets, and the terrible aspect of the Moorish
infantry against their bloody enemy, delight, satiated at length with
thy sport, alas! of too long continuance: or if thou, the winged son of
gentle Maia, by changing thy figure, personate a youth upon earth,
submitting to be called the avenger of Caesar; late mayest thou return
to the skies, and long mayest thou joyously be present to the Roman
people; nor may an untimely blast transport thee from us, offended at
our crimes. Here mayest thou rather delight in magnificent triumphs, and
to be called father and prince: nor suffer the Parthians with impunity
to make incursions, you, O Caesar, being our general.
* * * * *
ODE III.
TO THE SHIP, IN WHICH VIRGIL WAS ABOUT TO SAIL TO ATHENS.
So may the goddess who rules over Cyprus; so may the bright stars, the
brothers of Helen; and so may the father of the winds, confining all
except Iapyx, direct thee, O ship, who art intrusted with Virgil; my
prayer is, that thou mayest land him safe on the Athenian shore, and
preserve the half of my soul. Surely oak and three-fold brass surrounded
his heart who first trusted a frail vessel to the merciless ocean, nor
was afraid of the impetuous Africus contending with the northern storms,
nor of the mournful Hyades, nor of the rage of Notus, than whom there is
not a more absolute controller of the Adriatic, either to raise or
assuage its waves at pleasure. What path of death did he fear, who
beheld unmoved the rolling monsters of the deep; who beheld unmoved the
tempestuous swelling of the sea, and the Acroceraunians--ill-famed
rocks?
In vain has God in his wisdom divided the countries of the earth by the
separating ocean, if nevertheless profane ships bound over waters not to
be violated. The race of man presumptuous enough to endure everything,
rushes on through forbidden wickedness.
The presumptuous son of Iapetus, by an impious fraud, brought down fire
into the world. After fire was stolen from the celestial mansions,
consumption and a new train of fevers settled upon the earth, and the
slow approaching necessity of death, which, till now, was remote,
accelerated its pace. Daedalus essayed the empty air with wings not
permitted to man. The labor of Hercules broke through Acheron. There is
nothing too arduous for mortals to attempt. We aim at heaven itself in
our folly; neither do we suffer, by our wickedness, Jupiter to lay aside
his revengeful thunderbolts.
* * * * *
ODE IV.
TO SEXTIUS.
Severe winter is melted away beneath the agreeable change of spring and
the western breeze; and engines haul down the dry ships. And neither
does the cattle any longer delight in the stalls, nor the ploughman in
the fireside; nor are the meadows whitened by hoary frosts. Now
Cytherean Venus leads off the dance by moonlight; and the comely Graces,
in conjunction with the Nymphs, shake the ground with alternate feet;
while glowing Vulcan kindles the laborious forges of the Cyclops. Now it
is fitting to encircle the shining head either with verdant myrtle, or
with such flowers as the relaxed earth produces. Now likewise it is
fitting to sacrifice to Faunus in the shady groves, whether he demand a
lamb, or be more pleased with a kid. Pale death knocks at the cottages
of the poor, and the palaces of kings, with an impartial foot. O happy
Sextius! The short sum total of life forbids us to form remote
expectations. Presently shall darkness, and the unreal ghosts, and the
shadowy mansion of Pluto oppress you; where, when you shall have once
arrived, you shall neither decide the dominion of the bottle by dice,
nor shall you admire the tender Lycidas, with whom now all the youth is
inflamed, and for whom ere long the maidens will grow warm.
* * * * *
ODE V.
TO PYRRHA.
What dainty youth, bedewed with liquid perfumes, caresses you, Pyrrha,
beneath the pleasant grot, amid a profusion of roses? For whom do you
bind your golden hair, plain in your neatness? Alas! how often shall he
deplore your perfidy, and the altered gods; and through inexperience be
amazed at the seas, rough with blackening storms who now credulous
enjoys you all precious, and, ignorant of the faithless gale, hopes you
will be always disengaged, always amiable! Wretched are those, to whom
thou untried seemest fair? The sacred wall [of Neptune's temple]
demonstrates, by a votive tablet, that I have consecrated my dropping
garments to the powerful god of the sea.
* * * * *
ODE VI.
TO AGRIPPA.
You shall be described by Varius, a bird of Maeonian verse, as brave,
and a subduer of your enemies, whatever achievements your fierce
soldiery shall have accomplished, under your command; either on
ship-board or on horseback. We humble writers, O Agrippa, neither
undertake these high subjects, nor the destructive wrath of inexorable
Achilles, nor the voyages of the crafty Ulysses, nor the cruel house of
Pelops: while diffidence, and the Muse who presides over the peaceful
lyre, forbid me to diminish the praise of illustrious Caesar, and yours,
through defect of genius. Who with sufficient dignity will describe Mars
covered with adamantine coat of mail, or Meriones swarthy with Trojan
dust, or the son of Tydeus by the favor of Pallas a match for the gods?
We, whether free, or ourselves enamored of aught, light as our wont,
sing of banquets; we, of the battles of maids desperate against young
fellows--with pared nails.
* * * * *
ODE VII.
TO MUNATIUS PLANCUS.
Other poets shall celebrate the famous Rhodes, or Mitylene, or Ephesus,
or the walls of Corinth, situated between two seas, or Thebes,
illustrious by Bacchus, or Delphi by Apollo, or the Thessalian Tempe.
There are some, whose one task it is to chant in endless verse the city
of spotless Pallas, and to prefer the olive culled from every side, to
every other leaf. Many a one, in honor of Juno, celebrates Argos,
productive of steeds, and rich Mycenae. Neither patient Lacedaemon so
much struck me, nor so much did the plain of fertile Larissa, as the
house of resounding Albunea, and the precipitately rapid Anio, and the
Tiburnian groves, and the orchards watered by ductile rivulets. As the
clear south wind often clears away the clouds from a lowering sky, now
teems with perpetual showers; so do you, O Plancus, wisely remember to
put an end to grief and the toils of life by mellow wine; whether the
camp, refulgent with banners, possess you, or the dense shade of your
own Tibur shall detain you. When Teucer fled from Salamis and his
father, he is reported, notwithstanding, to have bound his temples,
bathed in wine, with a poplar crown, thus accosting his anxious friends:
"O associates and companions, we will go wherever fortune, more
propitious than a father, shall carry us. Nothing is to be despaired of
under Teucer's conduct, and the auspices of Teucer: for the infallible
Apollo has promised, that a Salamis in a new land shall render the name
equivocal. O gallant heroes, and often my fellow-sufferers in greater
hardships than these, now drive away your cares with wine: to-morrow we
will re-visit the vast ocean. "
* * * * *
ODE VIII.
TO LYDIA.
Lydia, I conjure thee by all the powers above, to tell me why you are so
intent to ruin Sybaris by inspiring him with love? Why hates he the
sunny plain, though inured to bear the dust and heat? Why does he
neither, in military accouterments, appear mounted among his equals; nor
manage the Gallic steed with bitted reins? Why fears he to touch the
yellow Tiber? Why shuns he the oil of the ring more cautiously than
viper's blood? Why neither does he, who has often acquired reputation by
the quoit, often by the javelin having cleared the mark, any longer
appear with arms all black-and-blue by martial exercises? Why is he
concealed, as they say the son of the sea-goddess Thetis was, just
before the mournful funerals of Troy; lest a manly habit should hurry
him to slaughter, and the Lycian troops?
* * * * *
ODE IX.
TO THALIARCHUS.
You see how Soracte stands white with deep snow, nor can the laboring
woods any longer support the weight, and the rivers stagnate with the
sharpness of the frost. Dissolve the cold, liberally piling up billets
on the hearth; and bring out, O Thaliarchus, the more generous wine,
four years old, from the Sabine jar. Leave the rest to the gods, who
having once laid the winds warring with the fervid ocean, neither the
cypresses nor the aged ashes are moved. Avoid inquiring what may happen
tomorrow; and whatever day fortune shall bestow on you, score it up for
gain; nor disdain, being a young fellow, pleasant loves, nor dances, as
long as ill-natured hoariness keeps off from your blooming age. Now let
both the Campus Martius and the public walks, and soft whispers at the
approach of evening be repeated at the appointed hour: now, too, the
delightful laugh, the betrayer of the lurking damsel from some secret
corner, and the token ravished from her arms or fingers, pretendingly
tenacious of it.
* * * * *
ODE X.
TO MERCURY.
Mercury, eloquent grandson of Atlas, thou who artful didst from the
savage manners of the early race of men by oratory, and the institution
of the graceful Palaestra: I will celebrate thee, messenger of Jupiter
and the other gods, and parent of the curved lyre; ingenious to conceal
whatever thou hast a mind to, in jocose theft. While Apollo, with angry
voice, threatened you, then but a boy, unless you would restore the
oxen, previously driven away by your fraud, he laughed, [when he found
himself] deprived of his quiver [also]. Moreover, the wealthy Priam too,
on his departure from Ilium, under your guidance deceived the proud sons
of Atreus, and the Thessalian watch-lights, and the camp inveterate
agaist Troy. You settle the souls of good men in blissful regions, and
drive together the airy crowd with your golden rod, acceptable both to
the supernal and infernal gods.
* * * * *
ODE XI.
TO LEUCONOE.
Inquire not, Leuconoe (it is not fitting you should know), how long a
term of life the gods have granted to you or to me: neither consult the
Chaldean calculations. How much better is it to bear with patience
whatever shall happen! Whether Jupiter have granted us more winters, or
[this as] the last, which now breaks the Etrurian waves against the
opposing rocks. Be wise; rack off your wines, and abridge your hopes [in
proportion] to the shortness of your life. While we are conversing,
envious age has been flying; seize the present day, not giving the least
credit to the succeeding one.
* * * * *
ODE XII.
TO AUGUSTUS.
What man, what hero, O Clio, do you undertake to celebrate on the harp,
or the shrill pipe? What god? Whose name shall the sportive echo
resound, either in the shady borders of Helicon, or on the top of
Pindus, or on cold Haemus? Whence the woods followed promiscuously the
tuneful Orpheus, who by his maternal art retarded the rapid courses of
rivers, and the fleet winds; and was so sweetly persuasive, that he drew
along the listening oaks with his harmonious strings. But what can I
sing prior to the usual praises of the Sire, who governs the affairs of
men and gods; who [governs] the sea, the earth, and the whole world with
the vicissitudes of seasons? Whence nothing is produced greater than
him; nothing springs either like him, or even in a second degree to him:
nevertheless, Pallas has acquired these honors, which are next after
him.
Neither will I pass thee by in silence, O Bacchus, bold in combat; nor
thee, O Virgin, who art an enemy to the savage beasts; nor thee, O
Phoebus, formidable for thy unerring dart.
I will sing also of Hercules, and the sons of Leda, the one illustrious
for his achievements on horseback, the other on foot; whose
clear-shining constellation as soon as it has shone forth to the
sailors, the troubled surge falls down from the rocks, the winds cease,
the clouds vanish, and the threatening waves subside in the sea--because
it was their will. After these, I am in doubt whom I shall first
commemorate, whether Romulus, or the peaceful reign of Numa, or the
splendid ensigns of Tarquinius, or the glorious death of Cato. I will
celebrate, out of gratitude, with the choicest verses, Regulus, and the
Scauri, and Paulus, prodigal of his mighty soul, when Carthage
conquered, and Fabricius.
Severe poverty, and an hereditary farm, with a dwelling suited to it,
formed this hero useful in war; as it did also Curius with his rough
locks, and Camillus. The fame of Marcellus increases, as a tree does in
the insensible progress of time. But the Julian constellation shines
amid them all, as the moon among the smaller stars. O thou son of
Saturn, author and preserver of the human race, the protection of Caesar
is committed to thy charge by the Fates: thou shalt reign supreme, with
Caesar for thy second. Whether he shall subdue with a just victory the
Parthians making inroads upon Italy, or shall render subject the Seres
and Indians on the Eastern coasts; he shall rule the wide world with
equity, in subordination to thee. Thou shalt shake Olympus with thy
tremendous car; thou shalt hurl thy hostile thunderbolts against the
polluted groves.
* * * * *
ODE XIII.
TO LYDIA.
O Lydia, when you commend Telephus' rosy neck, and the waxen arms of
Telephus, alas! my inflamed liver swells with bile difficult to be
repressed. Then neither is my mind firm, nor does my color maintain a
certain situation: and the involuntary tears glide down my cheek,
proving with what lingering flames I am inwardly consumed. I am on fire,
whether quarrels rendered immoderate by wine have stained your fair
shoulders; or whether the youth, in his fury, has impressed with his
teeth a memorial on your lips. If you will give due attention to my
advice, never expect that he will be constant, who inhumanly wounds
those sweet kisses, which Venus has imbued with the fifth part of all
her nectar. O thrice and more than thrice happy those, whom an
indissoluble connection binds together; and whose love, undivided by
impious complainings, does not separate them sooner than the last day!
* * * * *
ODE XIV.
TO THE ROMAN STATE.
O ship, new waves will bear you back again to sea. O what are you doing?
Bravely seize the port. Do you not perceive, that your sides are
destitute of oars, and your mast wounded by the violent south wind, and
your main-yards groan, and your keel can scarcely support the
impetuosity of the waves without the help of cordage? You have not
entire sails; nor gods, whom you may again invoke, pressed with
distress: notwithstanding you are made of the pines of Pontus, and as
the daughter of an illustrious wood, boast your race, and a fame now of
no service to you. The timorous sailor has no dependence on a painted
stern. Look to yourself, unless you are destined to be the sport of the
winds. O thou, so lately my trouble and fatigue, but now an object of
tenderness and solicitude, mayest thou escape those dangerous seas which
flow among the shining Cyclades.
* * * * *
ODE XV.
TO PARIS.
When the perfidious shepherd (Paris) carried off by sea in Trojan ships
his hostess Helen, Nereus suppressed the swift winds in an unpleasant
calm, that he might sing the dire fates. "With unlucky omen art thou
conveying home her, whom Greece with a numerous army shall demand back
again, having entered into a confederacy to dissolve your nuptials, and
the ancient kingdom of Priam. Alas! what sweat to horses, what to men,
is just at hand! What a destruction art thou preparing for the Trojan
nation! Even now Pallas is fitting her helmet, and her shield, and her
chariot, and her fury. In vain, looking fierce through the patronage of
Venus, will you comb your hair, and run divisions upon the effeminate
lyre with songs pleasing to women. In vain will you escape the spears
that disturb the nuptial bed, and the point of the Cretan dart, and the
din [of battle], and Ajax swift in the pursuit. Nevertheless, alas! the
time will come, though late, when thou shalt defile thine adulterous
hairs in the dust. Dost thou not see the son of Laertes, fatal to thy
nation, and Pylian Nestor, Salaminian Teucer, and Sthenelus skilled in
fight (or if there be occasion to manage horses, no tardy charioteer),
pursue thee with intrepidity? Meriones also shalt thou experience.
Behold! the gallant son of Tydeus, a better man than his father, glows
to find you out: him, as a stag flies a wolf, which he has seen on the
opposite side of the vale, unmindful of his pasture, shall you,
effeminate, fly, grievously panting:--not such the promises you made
your mistress. The fleet of the enraged Achilles shall defer for a time
that day, which is to be fatal to Troy and the Trojan matrons: but,
after a certain number of years, Grecian fire shall consume the Trojan
palaces. "
* * * * *
ODE XVI.
TO A YOUNG LADY HORACE HAD OFFENDED.
O daughter, more charming than your charming mother, put what end you
please to my insulting iambics; either in the flames, or, if you choose
it, in the Adriatic. Nor Cybele, nor Apollo, the dweller in the shrines,
so shakes the breast of his priests; Bacchus does not do it equally, nor
do the Corybantes so redouble their strokes on the sharp-sounding
cymbals, as direful anger; which neither the Noric sword can deter, nor
the shipwrecking sea, nor dreadful fire, not Jupiter himself rushing
down with awful crash. It is reported that Prometheus was obliged to add
to that original clay [with which he formed mankind], some ingredient
taken from every animal, and that he applied the vehemence of the raging
lion to the human breast. It was rage that destroyed Thyestes with
horrible perdition; and has been the final cause that lofty cities have
been entirely demolished, and that an insolent army has driven the
hostile plowshare over their walls. Compose your mind. An ardor of soul
attacked me also in blooming youth, and drove me in a rage to the
writing of swift-footed iambics. Now I am desirous of exchanging
severity for good nature, provided that you will become my friend, after
my having recanted my abuse, and restore me your affections.
* * * * *
ODE XVII.
TO TYNDARIS.
The nimble Faunus often exchanges the Lycaean mountain for the pleasant
Lucretilis, and always defends my she-goats from the scorching summer,
and the rainy winds. The wandering wives of the unsavory husband seek
the hidden strawberry-trees and thyme with security through the safe
grove: nor do the kids dread the green lizards, or the wolves sacred to
Mars; whenever, my Tyndaris, the vales and the smooth rocks of the
sloping Ustica have resounded with his melodious pipe. The gods are my
protectors. My piety and my muse are agreeable to the gods. Here plenty,
rich with rural honors, shall flow to you, with her generous horn filled
to the brim. Here, in a sequestered vale, you shall avoid the heat of
the dog-star; and, on your Anacreontic harp, sing of Penelope and the
frail Circe striving for one lover; here you shall quaff, under the
shade, cups of unintoxicating Lesbian. Nor shall the raging son of
Semele enter the combat with Mars; and unsuspected you shall not fear
the insolent Cyrus, lest he should savagely lay his intemperate hands on
you, who are by no means a match for him; and should rend the chaplet
that is platted in your hair, and your inoffensive garment.
* * * * *
ODE XVIII.
TO VARUS.
O Varus, you can plant no tree preferable to the sacred vine, about the
mellow soil of Tibur, and the walls of Catilus. For God hath rendered
every thing cross to the sober; nor do biting cares disperse any
otherwise [than by the use of wine]. Who, after wine, complains of the
hardships of war or of poverty? Who does not rather [celebrate] thee,
Father Bacchus, and thee, comely Venus? Nevertheless, the battle of the
Centaurs with the Lapithae, which was fought in their cups, admonishes
us not to exceed a moderate use of the gifts of Bacchus. And Bacchus
himself admonishes us in his severity to the Thracians; when greedy to
satisfy their lusts, they make little distinction between right and
wrong. O beauteous Bacchus, I will not rouse thee against thy will, nor
will I hurry abroad thy [mysteries, which are] covered with various
leaves. Cease your dire cymbals, together with your Phrygian horn, whose
followers are blind Self-love and Arrogance, holding up too high her
empty head, and the Faith communicative of secrets, and more transparent
than glass.
* * * * *
ODE XIX.
TO GLYCERA.
The cruel mother of the Cupids, and the son of the Theban Gemele, and
lascivious ease, command me to give back my mind to its deserted loves.
The splendor of Glycera, shining brighter than the Parian marble,
inflames me: her agreeable petulance, and her countenance, too unsteady
to be beheld, inflame me. Venus, rushing on me with her whole force, has
quitted Cyprus; and suffers me not to sing of the Scythians, and the
Parthian, furious when his horse is turned for flight, or any subject
which is not to the present purpose. Here, slaves, place me a live turf;
here, place me vervains and frankincense, with a flagon of two-year-old
wine. She will approach more propitious, after a victim has been
sacrificed.
* * * * *
ODE XX.
TO MAECENAS.
My dear knight Maecenas, you shall drink [at my house] ignoble Sabine
wine in sober cups, which I myself sealed up in the Grecian cask, stored
at the time, when so loud an applause was given to you in the
amphitheatre, that the banks of your ancestral river, together with the
cheerful echo of the Vatican mountain, returned your praises. You [when
you are at home] will drink the Caecuban, and the grape which is
squeezed in the Calenian press; but neither the Falernian vines, nor the
Formian hills, season my cups.
* * * * *
ODE XXI.
ON DIANA AND APOLLO.
Ye tender virgins, sing Diana; ye boys, sing Apollo with his unshorn
hair, and Latona passionately beloved by the supreme Jupiter. Ye
(virgins), praise her that rejoices in the rivers, and the thick groves,
which project either from the cold Algidus, or the gloomy woods of
Erymanthus, or the green Cragus. Ye boys, extol with equal praises
Apollo's Delos, and his shoulder adorned with a quiver, and with his
brother Mercury's lyre. He, moved by your intercession, shall drive away
calamitous war, and miserable famine, and the plague from the Roman
people and their sovereign Caesar, to the Persians and the Britons.
* * * * *
ODE XXII.
TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.
There are some, whose one task it is to chant in endless verse the city
of spotless Pallas, and to prefer the olive culled from every side, to
every other leaf. Many a one, in honor of Juno, celebrates Argos,
productive of steeds, and rich Mycenae. Neither patient Lacedaemon so
much struck me, nor so much did the plain of fertile Larissa, as the
house of resounding Albunea, and the precipitately rapid Anio, and the
Tiburnian groves, and the orchards watered by ductile rivulets. As the
clear south wind often clears away the clouds from a lowering sky, now
teems with perpetual showers; so do you, O Plancus, wisely remember to
put an end to grief and the toils of life by mellow wine; whether the
camp, refulgent with banners, possess you, or the dense shade of your
own Tibur shall detain you. When Teucer fled from Salamis and his
father, he is reported, notwithstanding, to have bound his temples,
bathed in wine, with a poplar crown, thus accosting his anxious friends:
"O associates and companions, we will go wherever fortune, more
propitious than a father, shall carry us. Nothing is to be despaired of
under Teucer's conduct, and the auspices of Teucer: for the infallible
Apollo has promised, that a Salamis in a new land shall render the name
equivocal. O gallant heroes, and often my fellow-sufferers in greater
hardships than these, now drive away your cares with wine: to-morrow we
will re-visit the vast ocean. "
* * * * *
ODE VIII.
TO LYDIA.
Lydia, I conjure thee by all the powers above, to tell me why you are so
intent to ruin Sybaris by inspiring him with love? Why hates he the
sunny plain, though inured to bear the dust and heat? Why does he
neither, in military accouterments, appear mounted among his equals; nor
manage the Gallic steed with bitted reins? Why fears he to touch the
yellow Tiber? Why shuns he the oil of the ring more cautiously than
viper's blood? Why neither does he, who has often acquired reputation by
the quoit, often by the javelin having cleared the mark, any longer
appear with arms all black-and-blue by martial exercises? Why is he
concealed, as they say the son of the sea-goddess Thetis was, just
before the mournful funerals of Troy; lest a manly habit should hurry
him to slaughter, and the Lycian troops?
* * * * *
ODE IX.
TO THALIARCHUS.
You see how Soracte stands white with deep snow, nor can the laboring
woods any longer support the weight, and the rivers stagnate with the
sharpness of the frost. Dissolve the cold, liberally piling up billets
on the hearth; and bring out, O Thaliarchus, the more generous wine,
four years old, from the Sabine jar. Leave the rest to the gods, who
having once laid the winds warring with the fervid ocean, neither the
cypresses nor the aged ashes are moved. Avoid inquiring what may happen
tomorrow; and whatever day fortune shall bestow on you, score it up for
gain; nor disdain, being a young fellow, pleasant loves, nor dances, as
long as ill-natured hoariness keeps off from your blooming age. Now let
both the Campus Martius and the public walks, and soft whispers at the
approach of evening be repeated at the appointed hour: now, too, the
delightful laugh, the betrayer of the lurking damsel from some secret
corner, and the token ravished from her arms or fingers, pretendingly
tenacious of it.
* * * * *
ODE X.
TO MERCURY.
Mercury, eloquent grandson of Atlas, thou who artful didst from the
savage manners of the early race of men by oratory, and the institution
of the graceful Palaestra: I will celebrate thee, messenger of Jupiter
and the other gods, and parent of the curved lyre; ingenious to conceal
whatever thou hast a mind to, in jocose theft. While Apollo, with angry
voice, threatened you, then but a boy, unless you would restore the
oxen, previously driven away by your fraud, he laughed, [when he found
himself] deprived of his quiver [also]. Moreover, the wealthy Priam too,
on his departure from Ilium, under your guidance deceived the proud sons
of Atreus, and the Thessalian watch-lights, and the camp inveterate
agaist Troy. You settle the souls of good men in blissful regions, and
drive together the airy crowd with your golden rod, acceptable both to
the supernal and infernal gods.
* * * * *
ODE XI.
TO LEUCONOE.
Inquire not, Leuconoe (it is not fitting you should know), how long a
term of life the gods have granted to you or to me: neither consult the
Chaldean calculations. How much better is it to bear with patience
whatever shall happen! Whether Jupiter have granted us more winters, or
[this as] the last, which now breaks the Etrurian waves against the
opposing rocks. Be wise; rack off your wines, and abridge your hopes [in
proportion] to the shortness of your life. While we are conversing,
envious age has been flying; seize the present day, not giving the least
credit to the succeeding one.
* * * * *
ODE XII.
TO AUGUSTUS.
What man, what hero, O Clio, do you undertake to celebrate on the harp,
or the shrill pipe? What god? Whose name shall the sportive echo
resound, either in the shady borders of Helicon, or on the top of
Pindus, or on cold Haemus? Whence the woods followed promiscuously the
tuneful Orpheus, who by his maternal art retarded the rapid courses of
rivers, and the fleet winds; and was so sweetly persuasive, that he drew
along the listening oaks with his harmonious strings. But what can I
sing prior to the usual praises of the Sire, who governs the affairs of
men and gods; who [governs] the sea, the earth, and the whole world with
the vicissitudes of seasons? Whence nothing is produced greater than
him; nothing springs either like him, or even in a second degree to him:
nevertheless, Pallas has acquired these honors, which are next after
him.
Neither will I pass thee by in silence, O Bacchus, bold in combat; nor
thee, O Virgin, who art an enemy to the savage beasts; nor thee, O
Phoebus, formidable for thy unerring dart.
I will sing also of Hercules, and the sons of Leda, the one illustrious
for his achievements on horseback, the other on foot; whose
clear-shining constellation as soon as it has shone forth to the
sailors, the troubled surge falls down from the rocks, the winds cease,
the clouds vanish, and the threatening waves subside in the sea--because
it was their will. After these, I am in doubt whom I shall first
commemorate, whether Romulus, or the peaceful reign of Numa, or the
splendid ensigns of Tarquinius, or the glorious death of Cato. I will
celebrate, out of gratitude, with the choicest verses, Regulus, and the
Scauri, and Paulus, prodigal of his mighty soul, when Carthage
conquered, and Fabricius.
Severe poverty, and an hereditary farm, with a dwelling suited to it,
formed this hero useful in war; as it did also Curius with his rough
locks, and Camillus. The fame of Marcellus increases, as a tree does in
the insensible progress of time. But the Julian constellation shines
amid them all, as the moon among the smaller stars. O thou son of
Saturn, author and preserver of the human race, the protection of Caesar
is committed to thy charge by the Fates: thou shalt reign supreme, with
Caesar for thy second. Whether he shall subdue with a just victory the
Parthians making inroads upon Italy, or shall render subject the Seres
and Indians on the Eastern coasts; he shall rule the wide world with
equity, in subordination to thee. Thou shalt shake Olympus with thy
tremendous car; thou shalt hurl thy hostile thunderbolts against the
polluted groves.
* * * * *
ODE XIII.
TO LYDIA.
O Lydia, when you commend Telephus' rosy neck, and the waxen arms of
Telephus, alas! my inflamed liver swells with bile difficult to be
repressed. Then neither is my mind firm, nor does my color maintain a
certain situation: and the involuntary tears glide down my cheek,
proving with what lingering flames I am inwardly consumed. I am on fire,
whether quarrels rendered immoderate by wine have stained your fair
shoulders; or whether the youth, in his fury, has impressed with his
teeth a memorial on your lips. If you will give due attention to my
advice, never expect that he will be constant, who inhumanly wounds
those sweet kisses, which Venus has imbued with the fifth part of all
her nectar. O thrice and more than thrice happy those, whom an
indissoluble connection binds together; and whose love, undivided by
impious complainings, does not separate them sooner than the last day!
* * * * *
ODE XIV.
TO THE ROMAN STATE.
O ship, new waves will bear you back again to sea. O what are you doing?
Bravely seize the port. Do you not perceive, that your sides are
destitute of oars, and your mast wounded by the violent south wind, and
your main-yards groan, and your keel can scarcely support the
impetuosity of the waves without the help of cordage? You have not
entire sails; nor gods, whom you may again invoke, pressed with
distress: notwithstanding you are made of the pines of Pontus, and as
the daughter of an illustrious wood, boast your race, and a fame now of
no service to you. The timorous sailor has no dependence on a painted
stern. Look to yourself, unless you are destined to be the sport of the
winds. O thou, so lately my trouble and fatigue, but now an object of
tenderness and solicitude, mayest thou escape those dangerous seas which
flow among the shining Cyclades.
* * * * *
ODE XV.
TO PARIS.
When the perfidious shepherd (Paris) carried off by sea in Trojan ships
his hostess Helen, Nereus suppressed the swift winds in an unpleasant
calm, that he might sing the dire fates. "With unlucky omen art thou
conveying home her, whom Greece with a numerous army shall demand back
again, having entered into a confederacy to dissolve your nuptials, and
the ancient kingdom of Priam. Alas! what sweat to horses, what to men,
is just at hand! What a destruction art thou preparing for the Trojan
nation! Even now Pallas is fitting her helmet, and her shield, and her
chariot, and her fury. In vain, looking fierce through the patronage of
Venus, will you comb your hair, and run divisions upon the effeminate
lyre with songs pleasing to women. In vain will you escape the spears
that disturb the nuptial bed, and the point of the Cretan dart, and the
din [of battle], and Ajax swift in the pursuit. Nevertheless, alas! the
time will come, though late, when thou shalt defile thine adulterous
hairs in the dust. Dost thou not see the son of Laertes, fatal to thy
nation, and Pylian Nestor, Salaminian Teucer, and Sthenelus skilled in
fight (or if there be occasion to manage horses, no tardy charioteer),
pursue thee with intrepidity? Meriones also shalt thou experience.
Behold! the gallant son of Tydeus, a better man than his father, glows
to find you out: him, as a stag flies a wolf, which he has seen on the
opposite side of the vale, unmindful of his pasture, shall you,
effeminate, fly, grievously panting:--not such the promises you made
your mistress. The fleet of the enraged Achilles shall defer for a time
that day, which is to be fatal to Troy and the Trojan matrons: but,
after a certain number of years, Grecian fire shall consume the Trojan
palaces. "
* * * * *
ODE XVI.
TO A YOUNG LADY HORACE HAD OFFENDED.
O daughter, more charming than your charming mother, put what end you
please to my insulting iambics; either in the flames, or, if you choose
it, in the Adriatic. Nor Cybele, nor Apollo, the dweller in the shrines,
so shakes the breast of his priests; Bacchus does not do it equally, nor
do the Corybantes so redouble their strokes on the sharp-sounding
cymbals, as direful anger; which neither the Noric sword can deter, nor
the shipwrecking sea, nor dreadful fire, not Jupiter himself rushing
down with awful crash. It is reported that Prometheus was obliged to add
to that original clay [with which he formed mankind], some ingredient
taken from every animal, and that he applied the vehemence of the raging
lion to the human breast. It was rage that destroyed Thyestes with
horrible perdition; and has been the final cause that lofty cities have
been entirely demolished, and that an insolent army has driven the
hostile plowshare over their walls. Compose your mind. An ardor of soul
attacked me also in blooming youth, and drove me in a rage to the
writing of swift-footed iambics. Now I am desirous of exchanging
severity for good nature, provided that you will become my friend, after
my having recanted my abuse, and restore me your affections.
* * * * *
ODE XVII.
TO TYNDARIS.
The nimble Faunus often exchanges the Lycaean mountain for the pleasant
Lucretilis, and always defends my she-goats from the scorching summer,
and the rainy winds. The wandering wives of the unsavory husband seek
the hidden strawberry-trees and thyme with security through the safe
grove: nor do the kids dread the green lizards, or the wolves sacred to
Mars; whenever, my Tyndaris, the vales and the smooth rocks of the
sloping Ustica have resounded with his melodious pipe. The gods are my
protectors. My piety and my muse are agreeable to the gods. Here plenty,
rich with rural honors, shall flow to you, with her generous horn filled
to the brim. Here, in a sequestered vale, you shall avoid the heat of
the dog-star; and, on your Anacreontic harp, sing of Penelope and the
frail Circe striving for one lover; here you shall quaff, under the
shade, cups of unintoxicating Lesbian. Nor shall the raging son of
Semele enter the combat with Mars; and unsuspected you shall not fear
the insolent Cyrus, lest he should savagely lay his intemperate hands on
you, who are by no means a match for him; and should rend the chaplet
that is platted in your hair, and your inoffensive garment.
* * * * *
ODE XVIII.
TO VARUS.
O Varus, you can plant no tree preferable to the sacred vine, about the
mellow soil of Tibur, and the walls of Catilus. For God hath rendered
every thing cross to the sober; nor do biting cares disperse any
otherwise [than by the use of wine]. Who, after wine, complains of the
hardships of war or of poverty? Who does not rather [celebrate] thee,
Father Bacchus, and thee, comely Venus? Nevertheless, the battle of the
Centaurs with the Lapithae, which was fought in their cups, admonishes
us not to exceed a moderate use of the gifts of Bacchus. And Bacchus
himself admonishes us in his severity to the Thracians; when greedy to
satisfy their lusts, they make little distinction between right and
wrong. O beauteous Bacchus, I will not rouse thee against thy will, nor
will I hurry abroad thy [mysteries, which are] covered with various
leaves. Cease your dire cymbals, together with your Phrygian horn, whose
followers are blind Self-love and Arrogance, holding up too high her
empty head, and the Faith communicative of secrets, and more transparent
than glass.
* * * * *
ODE XIX.
TO GLYCERA.
The cruel mother of the Cupids, and the son of the Theban Gemele, and
lascivious ease, command me to give back my mind to its deserted loves.
The splendor of Glycera, shining brighter than the Parian marble,
inflames me: her agreeable petulance, and her countenance, too unsteady
to be beheld, inflame me. Venus, rushing on me with her whole force, has
quitted Cyprus; and suffers me not to sing of the Scythians, and the
Parthian, furious when his horse is turned for flight, or any subject
which is not to the present purpose. Here, slaves, place me a live turf;
here, place me vervains and frankincense, with a flagon of two-year-old
wine. She will approach more propitious, after a victim has been
sacrificed.
* * * * *
ODE XX.
TO MAECENAS.
My dear knight Maecenas, you shall drink [at my house] ignoble Sabine
wine in sober cups, which I myself sealed up in the Grecian cask, stored
at the time, when so loud an applause was given to you in the
amphitheatre, that the banks of your ancestral river, together with the
cheerful echo of the Vatican mountain, returned your praises. You [when
you are at home] will drink the Caecuban, and the grape which is
squeezed in the Calenian press; but neither the Falernian vines, nor the
Formian hills, season my cups.
* * * * *
ODE XXI.
ON DIANA AND APOLLO.
Ye tender virgins, sing Diana; ye boys, sing Apollo with his unshorn
hair, and Latona passionately beloved by the supreme Jupiter. Ye
(virgins), praise her that rejoices in the rivers, and the thick groves,
which project either from the cold Algidus, or the gloomy woods of
Erymanthus, or the green Cragus. Ye boys, extol with equal praises
Apollo's Delos, and his shoulder adorned with a quiver, and with his
brother Mercury's lyre. He, moved by your intercession, shall drive away
calamitous war, and miserable famine, and the plague from the Roman
people and their sovereign Caesar, to the Persians and the Britons.
* * * * *
ODE XXII.
TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.
The man of upright life and pure from wickedness, O Fuscus, has no need
of the Moorish javelins, or bow, or quiver loaded with poisoned darts.
Whether he is about to make his journey through the sultry Syrtes, or
the inhospitable Caucasus, or those places which Hydaspes, celebrated in
story, washes. For lately, as I was singing my Lalage, and wandered
beyond my usual bounds, devoid of care, a wolf in the Sabine wood fled
from me, though I was unarmed: such a monster as neither the warlike
Apulia nourishes in its extensive woods, nor the land of Juba, the
dry-nurse of lions, produces. Place me in those barren plains, where no
tree is refreshed by the genial air; at that part of the world, which
clouds and an inclement atmosphere infest. Place me under the chariot of
the too neighboring sun, in a land deprived of habitations; [there] will
I love my sweetly-smiling, sweetly-speaking Lalage.
* * * * *
ODE XXIII.
TO CHLOE.
You shun me, Chloe, like a fawn that is seeking its timorous mother in
the pathless mountains, not without a vain dread of the breezes and the
thickets: for she trembles both in her heart and knees, whether the
arrival of the spring has terrified by its rustling leaves, or the green
lizards have stirred the bush. But I do not follow you, like a savage
tigress, or a Gaetulian lion, to tear you to pieces. Therefore, quit
your mother, now that you are mature for a husband.
* * * * *
ODE XXIV.
TO VIRGIL.
What shame or bound can there be to our affectionate regret for so dear
a person? O Melpomene, on whom your father has bestowed a clear voice
and the harp, teach me the mournful strains. Does then perpetual sleep
oppress Quinctilius? To whom when will modesty, and uncorrupt faith the
sister of Justice, and undisguised truth, find any equal? He died
lamented by many good men, but more lamented by none than by you, my
Virgil. You, though pious, alas! in vain demand Quinctilius back from
the gods, who did not lend him to us on such terms. What, though you
could strike the lyre, listened to by the trees, with more sweetness
than the Thracian Orpheus; yet the blood can never return to the empty
shade, which Mercury, inexorable to reverse the fates, has with his
dreadful Caduceus once driven to the gloomy throng. This is hard: but
what it is out of our power to amend, becomes more supportable by
patience.
* * * * *
ODE XXV.
TO LYDIA.
The wanton youths less violently shake thy fastened windows with their
redoubled knocks, nor do they rob you of your rest; and your door, which
formerly moved its yielding hinges freely, now sticks lovingly to its
threshold. Less and less often do you now hear: "My Lydia, dost thou
sleep the live-long night, while I your lover am dying? " Now you are an
old woman, it will be your turn to bewail the insolence of rakes, when
you are neglected in a lonely alley, while the Thracian wind rages at
the Interlunium: when that hot desire and lust, which is wont to render
furious the dams of horses, shall rage about your ulcerous liver: not
without complaint, that sprightly youth rejoice rather in the verdant
ivy and growing myrtle, and dedicate sapless leaves to Eurus, the
companion of winter.
* * * * *
ODE XXVI.
TO AELIUS LAMIA.
A friend to the Muses, I will deliver up grief and fears to the wanton
winds, to waft into the Cretan Sea; singularly careless, what king of a
frozen region is dreaded under the pole, or what terrifies Tiridates. O
sweet muse, who art delighted with pure fountains, weave together the
sunny flowers, weave a chaplet for my Lamia. Without thee, my praises
profit nothing. To render him immortal by new strains, to render him
immortal by the Lesbian lyre, becomes both thee and thy sisters.
* * * * *
ODE XXVII.
TO HIS COMPANIONS.
To quarrel over your cups, which were made for joy, is downright
Thracian. Away with the barbarous custom, and protect modest Bacchus
from bloody frays. How immensely disagreeable to wine and candles is the
sabre of the Medes! O my companions, repress your wicked vociferations,
and rest quietly on bended elbow. Would you have me also take my share
of stout Falernian? Let the brother of Opuntian Megilla then declare,
with what wound he is blessed, with what dart he is dying. --What, do you
refuse? I will not drink upon any other condition. Whatever kind of
passion rules you, it scorches you with the flames you need not be
ashamed of, and you always indulge in an honorable, an ingenuous love.
Come, whatever is your case, trust it to faithful ears. Ah, unhappy! in
what a Charybdis art thou struggling, O youth, worthy of a better flame!
What witch, what magician, with his Thessalian incantations, what deity
can free you? Pegasus himself will scarcely deliver you, so entangled,
from this three-fold chimera.
* * * * *
ODE XXVIII.
ARCHYTAS.
The [want of the] scanty present of a little sand near the Mantinian
shore, confines thee, O Archytas, the surveyor of sea and earth, and of
the innumerable sand: neither is it of any advantage to you, to have
explored the celestial regions, and to have traversed the round world in
your imagination, since thou wast to die. Thus also did the father of
Pelops, the guest of the gods, die; and Tithonus likewise was translated
to the skies, and Minos, though admitted to the secrets of Jupiter; and
the Tartarean regions are possessed of the son of Panthous, once more
sent down to the receptacle of the dead; notwithstanding, having retaken
his shield from the temple, he gave evidence of the Trojan times, and
that he had resigned to gloomy death nothing but his sinews and skin; in
your opinion, no inconsiderable judge of truth and nature. But the game
night awaits all, and the road of death must once be travelled. The
Furies give up some to the sport of horrible Mars: the greedy ocean is
destructive to sailors: the mingled funerals of young and old are
crowded together: not a single person does the cruel Proserpine pass by.
The south wind, the tempestuous attendant on the setting Orion, has sunk
me also in the Illyrian waves. But do not thou, O sailor, malignantly
grudge to give a portion of loose sand to my bones and unburied head.
So, whatever the east wind shall threaten to the Italian sea, let the
Venusinian woods suffer, while you are in safety; and manifold profit,
from whatever port it may, come to you by favoring Jove, and Neptune,
the defender of consecrated Tarentum. But if you, by chance, make light
of committing a crime, which will be hurtful to your innocent posterity,
may just laws and haughty retribution await you. I will not be deserted
with fruitless prayers; and no expiations shall atone for you. Though
you are in haste, you need not tarry long: after having thrice sprinkled
the dust over me, you may proceed.
* * * * *
ODE XXIX.
TO ICCIUS.
O Iccius, you now covet the opulent treasures of the Arabians, and are
preparing vigorous for a war against the kings of Saba, hitherto
unconquered, and are forming chains for the formidable Mede. What
barbarian virgin shall be your slave, after you have killed her
betrothed husband? What boy from the court shall be made your
cup-bearer, with his perfumed locks, skilled to direct the Seric arrows
with his father's bow?
