No More Learning

* * * * *



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? Who will now deny that it is probable for
precipitate rivers to flow back again to the high mountains, and for
Tiber to change his course, since you are about to exchange the noble
works of Panaetius, collected from all parts, together with the whole
Socratic family, for Iberian armor, after you had promised better
things?

* * * * *



ODE XXX.

TO VENUS.


O Venus, queen of Gnidus and Paphos, neglect your favorite Cyprus, and
transport yourself into the beautiful temple of Glycera, who is invoking
you with abundance of frankincense. Let your glowing son hasten along
with you, and the Graces with their zones loosed, and the Nymphs, and
Youth possessed of little charm without you and Mercury.

* * * * *



ODE XXXI.

TO APOLLO.


What does the poet beg from Phoebus on the dedication of his temple?
What does he pray for, while he pours from the flagon the first
libation? Not the rich crops of fertile Sardinia: not the goodly flocks
of scorched Calabria: not gold, or Indian ivory: not those countries,
which the still river Liris eats away with its silent streams. Let those
to whom fortune has given the Calenian vineyards, prune them with a
hooked knife; and let the wealthy merchant drink out of golden cups the
wines procured by his Syrian merchandize, favored by the gods
themselves, inasmuch as without loss he visits three or four times a
year the Atlantic Sea. Me olives support, me succories and soft mallows.
O thou son of Latona, grant me to enjoy my acquisitions, and to possess
my health, together with an unimpaired understanding, I beseech thee;
and that I may not lead a dishonorable old age, nor one bereft of the
lyre.

* * * * *



ODE XXXII.

TO HIS LYRE.


We are called upon. If ever, O lyre, in idle amusement in the shade with
thee, we have played anything that may live for this year and many, come
on, be responsive to a Latin ode, my dear lyre--first tuned by a Lesbian
citizen, who, fierce in war, yet amid arms, or if he had made fast to
the watery shore his tossed vessel, sung Bacchus, and the Muses, and
Venus, and the boy, her ever-close attendant, and Lycus, lovely for his
black eyes and jetty locks. O thou ornament of Apollo, charming shell,
agreeable even at the banquets of supreme Jove! O thou sweet alleviator
of anxious toils, be propitious to me, whenever duly invoking thee!

* * * * *



ODE XXXIII.

TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS.


Grieve not too much, my Albius, thoughtful of cruel Glycera; nor chant
your mournful elegies, because, as her faith being broken, a younger man
is more agreeable, than you in her eyes. A love for Cyrus inflames
Lycoris, distinguished for her little forehead: Cyrus follows the rough
Pholoe; but she-goats shall sooner be united to the Apulian wolves, than
Pholoe shall commit a crime with a base adulterer. Such is the will of
Venus, who delights in cruel sport, to subject to her brazen yokes
persons and tempers ill suited to each other. As for myself, the
slave-born Myrtale, more untractable than the Adriatic Sea that forms
the Calabrian gulfs, entangled me in a pleasing chain, at the very time
that a more eligible love courted my embraces.

* * * * *



ODE XXXIV.

AGAINST THE EPICURIANS.


A remiss and irregular worshiper of the gods, while I professed the
errors of a senseless philosophy, I am now obliged to set sail back
again, and to renew the course that I had deserted. For Jupiter, who
usually cleaves the clouds with his gleaming lightning, lately drove
his thundering horses and rapid chariot through the clear serene; which
the sluggish earth, and wandering rivers; at which Styx, and the horrid
seat of detested Taenarus, and the utmost boundary of Atlas were shaken.
The Deity is able to make exchange between the highest and the lowest,
and diminishes the exalted, bringing to light the obscure; rapacious
fortune, with a shrill whizzing, has borne off the plume from one head,
and delights in having placed it on another.

* * * * *



ODE XXXV.

TO FORTUNE.


O Goddess, who presidest over beautiful Antium; thou, that art ready to
exalt mortal man from the most abject state, or to convert superb
triumphs into funerals! Thee the poor countryman solicits with his
anxious vows; whosoever plows the Carpathian Sea with the Bithynian
vessel, importunes thee as mistress of the ocean. Thee the rough Dacian,
thee the wandering Scythians, and cities, and nations, and warlike
Latium also, and the mothers of barbarian kings, and tyrants clad in
purple, fear.
Spurn not with destructive foot that column which now
stands firm, nor let popular tummult rouse those, who now rest quiet, to
arms--to arms--and break the empire. Necessity, thy minister, alway
marches before thee, holding in her brazen hand huge spikes and wedges,
nor is the unyielding clamp absent, nor the melted lead. Thee Hope
reverences, and rare Fidelity robed in a white garment; nor does she
refuse to bear thee company, howsoever in wrath thou change thy robe,
and abandon the houses of the powerful. But the faithless crowd [of
companions], and the perjured harlot draw back. Friends, too faithless
to bear equally the yoke of adversity, when casks are exhausted, very
dregs and all, fly off. Preserve thou Caesar, who is meditating an
expedition against the Britons, the furthest people in the world, and
also the new levy of youths to be dreaded by the Eastern regions, and
the Red Sea. Alas! I am ashamed of our scars, and our wickedness, and of
brethren. What have we, a hardened age, avoided? What have we in our
impiety left unviolated! From what have our youth restrained their
hands, out of reverence to the gods? What altars have they spared? O
mayest thou forge anew our blunted swords on a different anvil against
the Massagetae and Arabians.

* * * * *



ODE XXXVI.


This is a joyful occasion to sacrifice both with incense and music of
the lyre, and the votive blood of a heifer to the gods, the guardians of
Numida; who, now returning in safety from the extremest part of Spain,
imparts many embraces to his beloved companions, but to none more than
his dear Lamia, mindful of his childhood spent under one and the same
governor, and of the gown, which they changed at the same time. Let not
this joyful day be without a Cretan mark of distinction; let us not
spare the jar brought forth [from the cellar]; nor, Salian-like, let
there be any cessation of feet; nor let the toping Damalis conquer
Bassus in the Thracian Amystis; nor let there be roses wanting to the
banquet, nor the ever-green parsley, nor the short-lived lily. All the
company will fix their dissolving eyes on Damalis; but she, more
luxuriant than the wanton ivy, will not be separated from her new lover.

* * * * *



ODE XXXVII.

TO HIS COMPANIONS.


Now, my companions, is the time to carouse, now to beat the ground with
a light foot: now is the time that was to deck the couch of the gods
with Salian dainties. Before this, it was impious to produce the old
Caecuban stored up by your ancestors; while the queen, with a
contaminated gang of creatures, noisome through distemper, was preparing
giddy destruction for the Capitol and the subversion of the empire,
being weak enough to hope for any thing, and intoxicated with her
prospering fortune. But scarcely a single ship preserved from the flames
bated her fury; and Caesar brought down her mind, inflamed with Egyptian
wine, to real fears, close pursuing her in her flight from Italy with
his galleys (as the hawk pursues the tender doves, or the nimble hunter
the hare in the plains of snowy Aemon), that he might throw into chains
this destructive monster [of a woman]; who, seeking a more generous
death, neither had an effeminate dread of the sword, nor repaired with
her swift ship to hidden shores. She was able also to look upon her
palace, lying in ruins, with a countenance unmoved, and courageous
enough to handle exasperated asps, that she might imbibe in her body the
deadly poison, being more resolved by having pre-meditated her death:
for she was a woman of such greatness of soul, as to scorn to be carried
off in haughty triumph, like a private person, by rough Liburnians.

* * * * *



ODE XXXVIII.

TO HIS SERVANT.


Boy, I detest the pomp of the Persians; chaplets, which are woven with
the rind of the linden, displease me; give up the search for the place
where the latter rose abides. It is my particular desire that you make
no laborious addition to the plain myrtle; for myrtle is neither
unbecoming you a servant, nor me, while I quaff under this mantling
vine.


* * * * *




THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.



ODE I.

TO ASINIUS POLLIO.


You are treating of the civil commotion, which began from the consulship
of Metelius, and the causes, and the errors, and the operations of the
war, and the game that fortune played, and the pernicious confederacy of
the chiefs, and arms stained with blood not yet expiated--a work full of
danger and hazard: and you are treading upon fires, hidden under
deceitful ashes: let therefore the muse that presides over severe
tragedy, be for a while absent from the theaters; shortly, when thou
hast completed the narrative of the public affairs, you shall resume
your great work in the tragic style of Athens, O Pollio, thou excellent
succor to sorrowing defendants and a consulting senate; [Pollio,] to
whom the laurel produced immortal honors in the Dalmatian triumph. Even
now you stun our ears with the threatening murmur of horns: now the
clarions sound; now the glitter of arms affrights the flying steeds, and
dazzles the sight of the riders. Now I seem to hear of great commanders
besmeared with, glorious dust, and the whole earth subdued, except the
stubborn soul of Cato. Juno, and every other god propitious to the
Africans, impotently went off, leaving that land unrevenged; but soon
offered the descendants of the conquerors, as sacrifices to the manes of
Jugurtha. What plain, enriched by Latin blood, bears not record, by its
numerous sepulchres, of our impious battles, and of the sound of the
downfall of Italy, heard even by the Medes? What pool, what rivers, are
unconscious of our deplorable war? What sea have not the Daunian
slaughters discolored? What shore is unstained by our blood? Do not,
however, rash muse, neglecting your jocose strains, resume the task of
Caean plaintive song, but rather with me seek measures of a lighter
style beneath some love-sequestered grotto.

* * * * *



ODE II.

TO CRISPUS SALLUSTIUS.


O Crispus Sallustius, thou foe to bullion, unless it derives splendor
from a moderate enjoyment, there is no luster in money concealed in the
niggard earth. Proculeius shall live an extended age, conspicuous for
fatherly affection to brothers; surviving fame shall bear him on an
untiring wing. You may possess a more extensive dominion by controlling
a craving disposition, than if you could unite Libya to the distant
Gades, and the natives of both the Carthages were subject to you alone.
The direful dropsy increases by self-indulgence, nor extinguishes its
thirst, unless the cause of the disorder has departed from the veins,
and the watery languor from the pallid body. Virtue, differing from the
vulgar, excepts Phraates though restored to the throne of Cyrus, from
the number of the happy; and teaches the populace to disuse false names
for things, by conferring the kingdom and a safe diadem and the
perpetual laurel upon him alone, who can view large heaps of treasure
with undazzled eye.

* * * * *



ODE III.

TO QUINTUS DELLIUS.


O Dellius, since thou art born to die, be mindful to preserve a temper
of mind even in times of difficulty, as well an restrained from insolent
exultation in prosperity: whether thou shalt lead a life of continual
sadness, or through happy days regale thyself with Falernian wine of the
oldest date, at case reclined in some grassy retreat, where the lofty
pine and hoary poplar delight to interweave their boughs into a
hospitable shade, and the clear current with trembling surface purls
along the meandering rivulet. Hither order [your slaves] to bring the
wine, and the perfumes, and the too short-lived flowers of the grateful
rose, while fortune, and age; and the sable threads of the three sisters
permit thee. You must depart from your numerous purchased groves; from
your house also, and that villa, which the yellow Tiber washes, you must
depart: and an heir shall possess these high-piled riches. It is of no
consequence whether you are the wealthy descendant of ancient Inachus,
or whether, poor and of the most ignoble race, you live without a
covering from the open air, since you are the victim of merciless Pluto.
We are all driven toward the same quarter: the lot of all is shaken in
the urn; destined sooner or later to come forth, and embark us in
[Charon's] boat for eternal exile.

* * * * *



ODE IV.

TO XANTHIAS PHOCEUS.


Let not, O Xanthias Phoceus, your passion for your maid put you out of
countenance; before your time, the slave Briseis moved the haughty
Achilles by her snowy complexion. The beauty of the captive Tecmessa
smote her master, the Telamonian Ajax; Agamemnon, in the midst of
victory, burned for a ravished virgin: when the barbarian troops fell by
the hands of their Thessalian conqueror, and Hector, vanquished, left
Troy more easily to be destroyed by the Grecians. You do not know that
perchance the beautiful Phyllis has parents of condition happy enough to
do honor to you their son-in-law. Certainly she must be of royal race,
and laments the unpropitiousness of her family gods. Be confident, that
your beloved is not of the worthless crowd; nor that one so true, so
unmercenary, could possibly be born of a mother to be ashamed of. I can
commend arms, and face, and well-made legs, quite chastely: avoid being
jealous of one, whose age is hastening onward to bring its eighth
mastrum to a close.

* * * * *



ODE V.


Not yet is she fit to be broken to the yoke; not yet is she equal to the
duties of a partner, nor can she support the weight of the bull
impetuously rushing to enjoyment. Your heifer's sole inclination is
about verdant fields, one while in running streams soothing the grievous
heat; at another, highly delighted to frisk with the steerlings in the
moist willow ground. Suppress your appetite for the immature grape;
shortly variegated autumn will tinge for thee the lirid clusters with a
purple hue. Shortly she shall follow you; for her impetuous time runs
on, and shall place to her account those years of which it abridges you;
shortly Lalage with a wanton assurance will seek a husband, beloved in a
higher degree than the coy Pholoe, or even Chloris; shining as brightly
with her fair shoulder, as the spotless moon upon the midnight sea, or
even the Gnidian Gyges, whom if you should intermix in a company of
girls, the undiscernible difference occasioned by his flowing locks and
doubtful countenance would wonderfully impose even on sagacious
strangers.

* * * * *



ODE VI.

TO SEPTIMUS.


Septimus, who art ready to go with me, even to Gades, and to the
Cantabrian, still untaught to bear our yoke, and the inhospitable
Syrtes, where the Mauritanian wave perpetually boils. O may Tibur,
founded by a Grecian colony, be the habitation of my old age! There let
there be an end to my fatigues by sea, and land, and war; whence if the
cruel fates debar me, I will seek the river of Galesus, delightful for
sheep covered with skins, and the countries reigned over by
Lacedaemonian Phalantus. That corner of the world smiles in my eye
beyond all others; where the honey yields not to the Hymettian, and the
olive rivals the verdant Venafrian: where the temperature of the air
produces a long spring and mild winters, and Aulon friendly to the
fruitful vine, envies not the Falernian grapes. That place, and those
blest heights, solicit you and me; there you shall bedew the glowing
ashes of your poet friend with a tear due [to his memory].

* * * * *



ODE VII.

TO POMPEIUS VARUS.


O thou, often reduced with me to the last extremity in the war which
Brutus carried on, who has restored thee as a Roman citizen, to the gods
of thy country and the Italian air, Pompey, thou first of my companions;
with whom I have frequently broken the tedious day in drinking, having
my hair, shining with the Syrian maiobathrum, crowned [with flowers]!
Together with thee did I experience the [battle of] Phillippi and a
precipitate flight, having shamefully enough left my shield; when valor
was broken, and the most daring smote the squalid earth with their
faces. But Mercury swift conveyed me away, terrified as I was, in a
thick cloud through the midst of the enemy. Thee the reciprocating sea,
with his tempestuous waves, bore back again to war. Wherefore render to
Jupiter the offering that is due, and deposit your limbs, wearied with a
tedious war, under my laurel, and spare not the casks reserved for you.
Fill up the polished bowls with care-dispelling Massic: pour out the
perfumed ointments from the capacious shells. Who takes care to quickly
weave the chaplets of fresh parsely or myrtle? Whom shall the Venus
pronounce to be master of the revel? In wild carouse I will become
frantic as the Bacchanalians. 'Tis delightful to me to play the madman,
on the reception of my friends.

* * * * *



ODE VIII.

TO BARINE.


If any punishment, Barine, for your violated oath had ever been of
prejudice to you: if you had become less agreeable by the blackness of a
single tooth or nail, I might believe you. But you no sooner have bound
your perfidious head with vows, but you shine out more charming by far,
and come forth the public care of our youth. It is of advantage to you
to deceive the buried ashes of your mother, and the silent
constellations of the night, together with all heaven, and the gods free
from chill death. Venus herself, I profess, laughs at this; the
good-natured nymphs laugh, and cruel Cupid, who is perpetually
sharpening his burning darts on a bloody whetstone. Add to this, that
all our boys are growing up for you; a new herd of slaves is growing up;
nor do the former ones quit the house of their impious mistress,
notwithstanding they often have threatened it. The matrons are in dread
of you on account of their young ones; the thrifty old men are in dread
of you; and the girls but just married are in distress, lest your beauty
should slacken [the affections of] their husbands.

* * * * *



ODE IX.

TO TITUS VALGIUS.


Showers do not perpetually pour down upon the rough fields, nor do
varying hurricanes forever harass the Caspian Sea; nor, my friend
Valgius, does the motionless ice remain fixed throughout all the months,
in the regions of Armenia; nor do the Garganian oaks [always] labor
under the northerly winds, nor are the ash-trees widowed of their
leaves. But thou art continually pursuing Mystes, who is taken from
thee, with mournful measures: nor do the effects of thy love for him
cease at the rising of Vesper, or when he flies the rapid approach of
the sun. But the aged man who lived three generations, did not lament
the amiable Antilochus all the years of his life: nor did his parents or
his Trojan sisters perpetually bewail the blooming Troilus. At length
then desist from thy tender complaints; and rather let us sing the fresh
trophies of Augustus Caesar, and the Frozen Niphates, and the river
Medus, added to the vanquished nations, rolls more humble tides, and the
Gelonians riding within a prescribed boundary in a narrow tract of land.

* * * * *



ODE X.

TO LICINIUS MURENA.


O Licinius, you will lead a more correct course of life, by neither
always pursuing the main ocean, nor, while you cautiously are in dread
of storms, by pressing too much upon the hazardous shore. Whosoever
loves the golden mean, is secure from the sordidness of an antiquated
cell, and is too prudent to have a palace that might expose him to
envy, if the lofty pine is more frequently agitated with winds, and high
towers fall down with a heavier ruin, and lightnings strike the summits
of the mountains. A well-provided breast hopes in adversity, and fears
in prosperity. 'Tis the same Jupiter, that brings the hideous winters
back, and that takes them away. If it is ill with us now, it will not be
so hereafter. Apollo sometimes rouses the silent lyric muse, neither
does he always bend his bow. In narrow circumstances appear in high
spirits, and undaunted. In the same manner you will prudently contract
your sails, which are apt to be too much swollen in a prosperous gale.

* * * * *



ODE XI.

TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS.


O Quintius Hirpinus, forbear to be inquisitive what the Cantabrian, and
the Scythian, divided from us by the interposed Adriatic, is meditating;
neither be fearfully solicitous for the necessaries of a life, which
requires but a few things. Youth and beauty fly swift away, while
sapless old age expels the wanton loves and gentle sleep. The same glory
does not always remain to the vernal flowers, nor does the ruddy moon
shine with one continued aspect; why, therefore, do you fatigue you
mind, unequal to eternal projects? Why do we not rather (while it is in
our power) thus carelessly reclining under a lofty plane-tree, or this
pine, with our hoary locks made fragrant by roses, and anointed with
Syrian perfume, indulge ourselves with generous wine? Bacchus dissipates
preying cares. What slave is here, instantly to cool some cups of ardent
Falernian in the passing stream? Who will tempt the vagrant wanton Lyde
from her house? See that you bid her hasten with her ivory lyre,
collecting her hair into a graceful knot, after the fashion of a Spartan
maid.

* * * * *



ODE XII.

TO MAECENAS.


Do not insist that the long wars of fierce Numantia, or the formidable
Annibal, or the Sicilian Sea impurpled with Carthaginian blood, should
be adapted to the tender lays of the lyre: nor the cruel Lapithae, nor
Hylaeus excessive in wine and the earth born youths, subdued by
Herculean force, from whom the splendid habitation of old Saturn dreaded
danger. And you yourself, Maecenas, with more propriety shall recount
the battles of Caesar, and the necks of haughty kings led in triumph
through the streets in historical prose. It was the muse's will that I
should celebrate the sweet strains of my mistress Lycimnia, that I
should celebrate her bright darting eyes, and her breast laudably
faithful to mutual love: who can with a grace introduce her foot into
the dance, or, sporting, contend in raillery, or join arms with the
bright virgins on the celebrated Diana's festival. Would you,
[Maecenas,] change one of Lycimnia's tresses for all the rich Achaemenes
possessed, or the Mygdonian wealth of fertile Phrygia, or all the
dwellings of the Arabians replete with treasures? Especially when she
turns her neck to meet your burning kisses, or with a gentle cruelty
denies, what she would more delight to have ravished than the
petitioner--or sometimes eagerly anticipates to snatch them her self.

* * * * *



ODE XIII.

TO A TREE.


O tree, he planted thee on an unlucky day whoever did it first, and with
an impious hand raised thee for the destruction of posterity, and the
scandal of the village. I could believe that he had broken his own
father's neck, and stained his most secret apartments with the midnight
blood of his guest. He was wont to handle Colchian poisons, and whatever
wickedness is anywhere conceived, who planted in my field thee, a sorry
log; thee, ready to fall on the head of thy inoffensive master. What we
ought to be aware of, no man is sufficiently cautious at all hours. The
Carthaginian sailor thoroughly dreads the Bosphorus; nor, beyond that,
does he fear a hidden fate from any other quarter. The soldier dreads
the arrows and the fleet retreat of the Parthian; the Parthian, chains
and an Italian prison; but the unexpected assault of death has carried
off, and will carry off, the world in general. How near was I seeing the
dominions of black Proserpine, and Aeacus sitting in judgment; the
separate abodes also of the pious, and Sappho complaining in her Aeohan
lyre of her own country damsels; and thee, O Alcaeus, sounding in fuller
strains on thy golden harp the distresses of exile, and the distresses
of war. The ghosts admire them both, while they utter strains worthy of
a sacred silence; but the crowded multitude, pressing with their
shoulders, imbibes, with a more greedy ear, battles and banished
tyrants. What wonder? Since the many headed monster, astonished at those
lays, hangs down his sable ears; and the snakes, entwined in the hair of
the furies, are soothed. Moreover, Prometheus and the sire of Pelops are
deluded into an insensibility of their torments, by the melodious sound:
nor is Orion any longer solicitous to harass the lions, or the fearful
lynxes.

* * * * *



ODE XIV.

TO POSTUMUS.


Alas! my Postumus, my Postumus, the fleeting years gilde on; nor will
piety cause any delay to wrinkles, and advancing old age, and
insuperable death. You could not, if you were to sacrifice every passing
day three hundred bulls, render propitious pitiless Pluto, who confines
the thrice-monstrous Geryon and Tityus with the dismal Stygian stream,
namely, that stream which is to be passed over by all who are fed by the
bounty of the earth, whether we be kings or poor ninds. In vain shall we
be free from sanguinary Mars, and the broken billows of the hoarse
Adriatic; in vain shall we be apprehensive for ourselves of the noxious
South, in the time of autumn. The black Cocytus wandering with languid
current, and the infamous race of Danaus, and Sisyphus, the son of the
Aeolus, doomed to eternal toil, must be visited; your land and house and
pleasing wife must be left, nor shall any of those trees, which you are
nursing, follow you, their master for a brief space, except the hated
cypresses; a worthier heir shall consume your Caecuban wines now guarded
with a hundred keys, and shall wet the pavement with the haughty wine,
more exquisite than what graces pontifical entertainment.

* * * * *



ODE XV.

AGAINST THE LUXURY OF THE ROMANS.


The palace-like edifices will in a short time leave but a few acres for
the plough; ponds of wider extent than the Lucrine lake will be every
where to be seen; and the barren plane-tree will supplant the elms. Then
banks of violets, and myrtle groves, and all the tribe of nosegays shall
diffuse their odors in the olive plantations, which were fruitful to
their preceding master. Then the laurel with dense boughs shall exclude
the burning beams. It was not so prescribed by the institutes of
Romulus, and the unshaven Cato, and ancient custom. Their private income
was contracted, while that of the community was great. No private men
were then possessed of galleries measured by ten-feet rules, which
collected the shady northern breezes; nor did the laws permit them to
reject the casual turf [for their own huts], though at the same time
they obliged them to ornament in the most sumptuous manner, with new
stone, the buildings of the public, and the temples of the gods, at a
common expense.

* * * * *



ODE XVI.

TO GROSPHUS.


O Grosphus, he that is caught in the wide Aegean Sea; when a black
tempest has obscured the moon, and not a star appears with steady light
for the mariners, supplicates the gods for repose: for repose, Thrace
furious in war; the quiver-graced Medes, for repose neither purchasable
by jewels, nor by purple, nor by gold. For neither regal treasures nor
the consul's officer can remove the wretched tumults of the mind, nor
the cares that hover about splendid ceilings. That man lives happily on
a little, who can view with pleasure the old-fashioned family
salt-cellar on his frugal board; neither anxiety nor sordid avarice robs
him of gentle sleep. Why do we, brave for a short season, aim at many
things? Why do we change our own for climates heated by another sun?
Whoever, by becoming an exile from his country, escaped likewise from
himself? Consuming care boards even brazen-beaked ships: nor does it
quit the troops of horsemen, for it is more fleet than the stags, more
fleet than the storm-driving east wind. A mind that is cheerful in its
present state, will disdain to be solicitous any further, and can
correct the bitters of life with a placid smile. Nothing is on all hands
completely blessed. A premature death carried off the celebrated
Achilles; a protracted old age wore down Tithonus; and time perhaps may
extend to me, what it shall deny to you. Around you a hundred flocks
bleat, and Sicilian heifers low; for your use the mare, fit for the
harness, neighs; wool doubly dipped in the African purple-dye, clothes
you: on me undeceitful fate has bestowed a small country estate, and the
slight inspiration of the Grecian muse, and a contempt for the malignity
of the vulgar.

* * * * *



ODE XVII.

TO MAECENAS.


Why dost thoti kill me with thy complaints? 'Tis neither agreeable to
the gods, nor to me, that thou shouldest depart first, O Maecenas, thou
grand ornament and pillar of my affairs. Alas! if an untimely blow hurry
away thee, a part of my soul, why do I the other moiety remain, my value
lost, nor any longer whole? That [fatal] day shall bring destruction
upon us both. I have by no means taken a false oath: we will go, we will
go, whenever thou shalt lead the way, prepared to be fellow-travelers in
the last journey. Me nor the breath of the fiery Chimaera, nor
hundred-handed Gyges, were he to rise again, shall ever tear from thee:
such is the will of powerful Justice, and of the Fates. Whether Libra or
malignant Scorpio had the ascendant at my natal hour, or Capricon the
ruler of the western wave, our horoscopes agree in a wonderful manner.
Thee the benign protection of Jupiter, shining with friendly aspect,
rescued from the baleful influence of impious Saturn, and retarded the
wings of precipitate destiny, at the time the crowded people with
resounding applauses thrice hailed you in the theatre: me the trunk of a
tree, falling upon my skull, would have dispatched, had not Faunus, the
protector of men of genius, with his right hand warded off the blow. Be
thou mindful to pay the victims and the votive temple; I will sacrifice
an humble lamb.

* * * * *



ODE XVIII.

AGAINST AVARICE AND LUXURY.


Nor ivory, nor a fretted ceiling adorned with gold, glitters in my
house: no Hymettian beams rest upon pillars cut out of the extreme parts
of Africa; nor, a pretended heir, have I possessed myself of the palace
of Attalus, nor do ladies, my dependants, spin Laconian purple for my
use. But integrity, and a liberal vein of genius, are mine: and the man
of fortune makes his court to me, who am but poor. I importune the gods
no further, nor do I require of my friend in power any larger
enjoyments, sufficiently happy with my Sabine farm alone. Day is driven
on by day, and the new moons hasten to their wane. You put out marble to
be hewn, though with one foot in the grave; and, unmindful of a
sepulcher, are building houses; and are busy to extend the shore of the
sea, that beats with violence at Baiae, not rich enough with the shore
of the mainland. Why is it, that through avarice you even pluck up the
landmarks of your neighbor's ground, and trespass beyond the bounds of
your clients; and wife and husband are turned out, bearing in their
bosom their household gods and their destitute children? Nevertheless,
no court more certainly awaits its wealthy lord, than the destined limit
of rapacious Pluto. Why do you go on? The impartial earth is opened
equally to the poor and to the sons of kings; nor has the life-guard
ferryman of hell, bribed with gold, re-conducted the artful Prometheus.
He confines proud Tantalus; and the race of Tantalus, he condescends,
whether invoked or not, to relieve the poor freed from their labors.

* * * * *



ODE XIX.

ON BACCHUS.

A DITHYRAMBIC, OR DRINKING SONG.


I saw Bacchus (believe it, posterity) dictating strains among the remote
rocks, and the nymphs learning them, and the ears of the goat-footed
satyrs all attentive. Evoe! my mind trembles with recent dread, and my
soul, replete with Bacchus, has a tumultuous joy, Evoe! spare me,
Bacchus; spare me, thou who art formidable for thy dreadful thyrsus. It
is granted me to sing the wanton Bacchanalian priestess, and the
fountain of wine, and rivulets flowing with milk, and to tell again of
the honeys distilling from the hollow trunks. It is granted me likewise
to celebrate the honor added to the constellations by your happy spouse,
and the palace of Pentheus demolished with no light ruin, and the
perdition of Thracian. Lycurgus.