Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Horace, Ode 2.20

Non usitata nec tenui ferar
penna biformis per liquidum aethera
vates, neque in terris morabor
longius invidiaque maior

urbes relinquam. Non ego, pauperum
sanguis parentum, non ego, quem vocas,
dilecte Maecenas, obibo
nec Stygia cohibebor unda.

Iam iam residunt cruribus asperae
pelles, et album mutor in alitem
superne, nascunturque leves
per digitos umerosque plumae.

Iam Daedaleo notior Icaro
visam gementis litora Bosphori
Syrtisque Gaetulas canorus
ales Hyperboreosque campos.

Me Colchus et, qui dissimulat metum
Marsae cohortis, Dacus et ultimi
nosent Geloni, me peritus
discet Hiber Rhodanique potor.

Absint inani funere neniae
luctusque turpes et querimoniae;
compesce clamorem ac sequlcri
mitte supervacuos honors.

A two-formed poet, I will be borne through the
clear sky on wings neither slight nor
common, nor will I delay in lands
for a long time and greater than envy

I will abandon the cities. Not I, the family of
poor parents, not I, whom you send for,
dear Maecenas, I will not die
nor will I be restrained by a Stygian wave.

Now already the rough skins shrink
on my legs, and I am changed to a white bird
above, and light feathers spring forth
on my fingers and shoulders.

Now, more famous than Icarus son of Daedalus,
I, a melodious bird, will visit the shores of the
groaning Bosphorus and Syrtis and Gaetulia and
the Hyperborean fields.

The Colchians will know me, who hide their
fear of the Marsian friend, and the Dacians and the
farthest Gelonians will know me, the skilled
Spaniard and the drinker of the Rhone will hear of me.

The funeral dirges and shameful grievings and
complaints are absent from the empty funeral;
restrain the noise and dismiss the unnecessary
honors of the tomb.

Horace, Ode 3.30

Exegi monumentum aere perennnius
regalique situ pyramidum altius,
quod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens
possit diruere aut innumerabilis
annorum series et fuga temporum.
Non omnis moriar multaque pars mei
vitabit Libitinam; usque ego postera
crescam laude recens. Dum Capitolium
scandet cum tacita virgine pontifex,
dicar, qua violens obstrepit Aufidus
et qua pauper aquae Daunus agrestium
regnavit populorum, ex humili potens,
princeps Aeolium carmen ad Italos
deduxisse modos. Sume superbiam
quaesitam meritis et mihi Delphica
lauro cinge volens, Melpomene, comam.

I have finished a monument more lasting than bronze
and higher than the royal structure of the pyramids,
which neither the destructive rain, nor wild Aquilo
is able to destroy, nor the countless
series of years and flight of ages.
I will not wholly die and a great part of me
will avoid Libitina; I will continuously arise
fresh with later praise. While a priest will climb
the Capitoline with a silent maiden,
I shall be spoken of where the violent Aufidus roars
and where Daunus, poor in water, ruled
a rural people, powerful from humble origin,
the first to have brought Aeolic song to
Italian meters. Accept the proud honor
obtained by your merits and with the Delphic
laural, Melpomene, gladly encircle my hair.

Horace, Ode 1.38

Persicos odi, puer, apparatus;
displicent nexae philyra coronae;
mitte sectari rosa quo locorum
sera moretur.

Simplici myrto nihil allabores
sedulus curo: neque te ministrum
dedecet myrtus neque me sub arta
vite bibentem.

I hate Persian trappings, slave;
the crowns tied with lime-tree displease me;
do not pursue where of all places the
late rose delays.

I desire that you not take the trouble to
add anything to simple myrtle: nor is myrtle
unsuitable for you, attending, or for me, drinking
under a narrow vine.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Horace, Ode 2.13

Ille et nefasto te posuit die,
quicumque primum, et sacrilega manu
produxit, arbos, in nepotum
perniciem opprobriumque pagi.

Illum et parentis credidderim sui
fregisse cervicem et penetralia
sparsisse nocturno cruore
hospitis; ille venena Colcha

et quicquid usquam concipitur nefas
tractavit, agro qui statuit meo
te, triste lignum, te caducum
in domini caput immerentis.

Quid quisque vitet, numquam homini satis
cautum est in horas. Navita Bosphorum
Poenus perhorrescit neque ultra
caeca timet aliunde fata;

miles sagittas et celerem fugam
Parthi, catenas Parthus et Italum
robur; sed improvisa leti
vis rapuit rapietque gentis.

Quam paene furvae regna Proserpinae
et iudicantem vidimus Aeacum
sedesque discriptas piorum et
Aeoliis fidibus querentem

Sappho puellis de popularibus
et te sonantem plenius aureo,
Alcaee, plectro dura navis,
dura fugae mala, dura belli.

Utrumque sacro digna silentio
mirantur umbrae dicere; sed magis
pugnas et exactos tyrannos
densum umeris bibit aure vulgus.

Quid mirum, ubi illis carminibus stupens
demittit atras belua centiceps
auris, et intorti capillis
Eumenidum recreantur angues?

Quin et Prometheus et Pelopis parens
dulci laborem decipitur sono,
nec curat Orion leones
aut timidos agitare lyncas.

He placed you on an inauspicious day,
whoever first placed you, and with a sacrilegious hand
he tended you, tree, to the ruin of his descendants
and the shame of the district.

I would believe that he had broke the neck
of his parents and that he had scattered the
hearthstones with the nocturnal blood
of h is guest; he has dealt with Colchian poisons

and whatever sin is ever conceived,
he who placed you in my field,
wretched log, you destined to fall
on the head of an undeserving master.

That which one avoids, one is never cautious
enough from one hour to the next. A Punic sailor
trembles at the Bosphorus, and does not fear
blind fates from somewhere else beyond;

a soldier trembles at the arrows and swift flight
of Parthia, and a Parthian fears Italian chains and
strength; but the unexpected strength of death
has seized and will seize the nations.

How nearly I did see the kingdoms of
dusky Proserpina and judging Aeacus
and the assigned seats of the pious ones and
Sappho complaining with an Aeolian lyre

about the local girls
and you, Alcaeus, sounding more fully
with a golden quill of the hardships at sea,
the evil hardships of exile, and the hardships of war.

The shades each marvel to say things worthy
of a sacred silence; but the crowd, packed to the
shoulders, drinks with their ear more
the battles and exiled tyrants.

What strange thing is it, when the hundred-headed
beast, astounded by these songs, droops his black
ears, and the snakes twisting
in the hairs of the Fates rest?

Yes, even Prometheus and the parent of Pelops
are deceived with respect to their labor by a sweet sound,
nor does Orion care to pursue
the lions or the timid lynxes.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Horace, Ode 2.14

Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,
labuntur anni, nec pietas moram
rugis et instanti senectae
adferet indomitaeque morti;

non, si trecenis, quotquot eunt dies,
amice, places illacrimabilem
Plutona tauris, qui ter amplum
Geryonen Tityonque tristi

compescit unda - scilicet omnibus,
quicumque terrae munere vescimur,
enaviganda, sive reges
sive inopes erimus coloni.

Frustra cruento Marte carebimus
fractisque rauci fluctibus Hadriae,
frustra per autumnos nocentem
corporibus metuemus Austrum.

Visendus ater flumine languido
Cocytos errans et Danai genus
infame damnatusque longi
Sisyphus Aeolides laboris.

LInquenda tellus et domus et placens
uxor, neque harum quas colis arborum
te praeter invisas cupressos
ulla brevem dominum sequetur.

Absumet heres Caecuba dignior
servata centum clavibus et mero
tinguet pavimentum superbo
pontificum potiore cenis.

Alas! Postumus, Postumus the swift years
slip away, nor does piety bring delay for
wrinkles and looming old age
and fierce death;

not even if, however many days go by, my friend,
you may appease pitiless Pluto with three hundred
bulls at a time, he who restrains triply large
Geryon and Tityos with the gloomy

water - which surely must be sailed by all,
whoever of us enjoys a gift of earth,
whether we will be kings
or poor farmers.

In vain, we will abstain from bloody Mars
and the broken waves of the raucous Adriatic sea,
in vain through autumn we will fear the
south wind harmful to our bodies.

The dark Cocytos river wandering with a sluggish
stream must be visited and the notorious family
of Danaus and Sisyphus Aeolides
condemned to a long labor.

Your land and your home and your pleasing
wife must be abandoned, and nor will any of
the these trees which you maintain follow you,
a short-lived master, except the hated cypresses.

Your more worthy heir will waste your Caecuban wine
guarded by a hundred keys and he will stain
the pavement with arrogant wine, better
than the dinner of the high priests.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Horace, Ode 2.12

Nolis longa ferae bella Numantiae
nec durum Hannibalem nec Siculum mare
Poeno purpureeum sanguine mollibus
aptari citharae modis,

nec saevos Lapithas et nimium mero
Hylaeum domitosque Herculea manu
Telluris iuvenes, unde periculum
fulgens contremuit domus

Saturni veteris; tuque pedestribus
dices historiis proelia Caesaris,
Maecenas, melius ductaque per vias
regum colla minacium.

Me dulcis dominae Musa Licymniae
cantus, me voluit dicere lucidum
fulgentis oculos et bene mutuis
fidum pectus amoribus;

quam nec ferre pedem dedecuit choris
nec certare ioco nec dare bracchia
ludentem nitidis virginibus sacro
Dianae celebris die.

Num tu quae tenuit dives Achaemenes
aut pinguis Phyrgiae Mygdonias opes
permutare velis crine Licymniae,
plenas aut Arabum domos,

cum flagrantia detorquet ad oscula
cervicem, aut facili saevitia negat,
quae poscente magis gaudeat eripi,
interdum rapere occupet?

You would not want the long wars of wild Numantia
nor hard Hannibal nor the Sicilian sea
to be made purple by Punic blood
by a lyre with sweet measures,

nor the savage Lapiths and Hylaeus with too much
wine and the sons of Earth conquered by
Herculean hand, whence the house
of ancient Saturn trembles at

the flashing danger; and you, Maecenas, can better
tell the battles of Caesar in historical prose,
and the necks of threatening kings led
through the streets.

The Muse wished me to say the sweet songs
to mistress Licymnia, to speak (of/about) her eyes brightly
shining and her heart well faithful
to mutual loves;

she who had not been unsuited to bear her foot with the choruses
nor to fight with a joke nor to give her arms,
playing with the shining maidens on the sacred
day of festive Diana.

For would you wish to exchange the riches which
Achaemenes holds or the Mygdonian wealth of
fertile Phrygia for a hair of Licymnia,
or the full Arabic homes,

when she bends her neck to your burning
kisses, or she refuses, with easy rage,
the kisses which, more than a woman demanding,
she rejoices to be snatched, and sometimes she attacks to snatch?

Horace, Ode 1.22

Integer vitae scelerisque purus
non eget Mauris iaculis neque arcu
nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra,

sive per Syrtis iter aestuosas
sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum vel quae loca fabulosus
lambit Hydaspes.

Namque me silva lupus in Sabina,
dum meam canto Lalagen et ultra
terminum curis vagor expeditis,
fugit inermem;

quale portentum neque militaris
Daunias latis alit aesculetis
nec Iubae tellus generat, Ieonum
arida nutrix.

Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
arbor aestiva recreatur aura,
quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Iuppiter urget;

pone sub curru nimium propinqui
solis in terra domibus negata:
dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
dulce loquentem.

He who is upright in life and pure of sin
does not need Moorish javelins nor bow
nor a quiver swollen with poisonous
arrows, Fuscus,

whether a journey must be made through the burning
Syrtes or through the inhospitable Caucasus
or the places which the famous
Hydaspes washes.

On the other hand, in the Sabine forest, while I
am singing of my Lalage and wandering beyond my
border free from cares, a wolf flees
me, unarmed;

such a omen as warlike Apulia does not
support in the wide oak forests
and the land of Juba does not produce, dry
nurse of lions.

Put me in lazy fields where no
tree is restored by a summer breeze,
the side of the world which clouds and bad
weather presses;

put me under the chariot of the too-near
sun, in a land denied houses:
I will love Lalage sweetly laughing,
sweetly speaking.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Horace, Ode 2.10

Rectius vives, Licini, neque altum
semper urgendo neque, dum procellas
cautus horrescis, nimium premendo
litus iniquum.

Auream quisquis mediocritatem
diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
sordibus tecti, caret invidenda
sobrius aula.

Saepius ventis agitatur ingens
pinus et celsae graviore casu
decidunt turres feriuntque summos
fulgura montis.

Sperat infestis, metuit secundis
alteram sortem bene praeparatum
pectus. Informis hiemes reducit
Iuppiter; idem

summovet. Non, si male nunc, et olim
sic erit: quondam cithara tacentem
suscitat Musam neque semper arcum
tendit Apollo.

Rebus angustis animosus atque
fortis appare; sapienter idem
contrahes vento nimium secundo
turgida vela.

You will live better, Licinius, by neither
always pressing the deep nor, while you carefully
dread storms, by excessively pressing
the treacherous shore.

Whoever values a golden mean
is safely free from the squalor
of a worn-out house, is soberly free from
an envious palace.

The vast pine is more often moved
by the wind and the high towers fall
with a more serious fall and the lightening
strikes the highest mountains.

The well-prepared heart hopes for the other fate
in dangerous affairs, and fears the other fate in favorable
affairs. Jupiter brings back ugly
winters; likewise,

he removes them. If it is badly now, once it will
not be so: once Apollo stirs the silent
Muse with his lyre and does not
always stretch his bow.

Appear strong and firm in steep
affairs; likewise, you will wisely
shorten your sails swollen in a
too favorable wind.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Horace, Ode 2.15

Iam pauca aratro iugera regiae
moles relinquent, undique latius
extenta visentur Lucrino
stagna lacu, plantanusque caelebs

evincet ulmos; tum violaria et
myrtus et omnis copia narium
spargent olivetis oderem
fertilibus domino priori.

Tum spissa ramis laurea fervidos
excludet ictus. Non ita Romuli
praescriptum et intonsi Catonis
auspiciis veterumque norma.

Privatus illis census erat brevis,
commune magnum; nulla decempedis
metata privatis opacam
porticus excipiebat Arcton,

nec fortuitum spernere caespitem
leges sinebant, oppida publico
sumptu iubentes et deorum
templa novo decorare saxo.

Now the kingly piles abandon few
fields to the plow, and the stretched pools
will be visited on all sides by the wider
Lucrine Lake, and the unmarried plane-tree

will drive out the elms; then the violets and
myrtles and all the wealth of the nostrils
will scatter their odor in the olive-yards fertile
for an earlier master.

Then the laurel with thick branches will shut out the
fiery strokes. Not thus had it been ordered for
Romulus and the auspices of unshaven Cato
and by the old standard.

The private census was short for these,
the public census was great; no covered walkway
with ten feet measured was retaining the
shady North for private citizens,

nor were the laws allowing to scorn
chance earth, and the towns ordered to honor
the temples of the gods with new stone
at public expense.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Horace, Ode 2.2

Nullus argento color est avaris
abdito terris, inimice lamnae
Crispe Sallusti, nisi temperato
splendeat usu.

Vivet extento Proculeius aevo,
notus in fratres animi paterni:
illum aget penna metuente solvi
fama superstes.

Latius regnes avidum domando
spiritum quam si Libyam remotis
Gadibus iungas et uterque Poenus
serviat uni.

Crescit indulgens sibi dirus hydrops,
nec sitim pellit, nisi causa morbi
fugerit venis et aquosus albo
corpore languor.

Redditum Cyri solio Phraaten
dissidens plebi numero beatorum
eximit Virtus populumque falsis
dedocet uti

vocibus, regnum et diadema tutum
deferens uni propriamque laurem,
quisquis ingentis oculo irretorto
spectat acervos.

No luster is with silver hidden away
in earth by misers, Sallustius Crispus
despiser of wealth, unless it shines
refraining from use.

Proculeius will live with a prolonged life,
known for his paternal attitude to his brothers:
surviving fame will drive him on wings
fearing to be released.

Latius, you may rule greed with
a tamed spirit, which, if you may join Libya
with remote Gades, and Poenus may serve
water to one master.

An awful dropsy indulgent to itself comes forth,
nor does it drive out thirst, unless the cause of illness
will flee from the veins and the wet feebleness
from the white body.

Virtue disagreeing with the people removes
Phraaten, restored to the Cyrian throne, from the number of the blessed,
and teaches the people not
to use false

words, restoring on him alone the royal power
and safe crown, and his very own honor,
whoever considers vast treasures with
an undistracted eye.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Horace, Ode 3.9

"Donec gratus eram tibi
nec quisquam potior bracchia candidae
cervici iuvenis dabat,
Persarum vigui rege beatior."

"Donec non alia magis
arsisti neque erat Lydia post Chloen,
multi Lydia nominis
Romana vigui clarior Ilia."

"Me nunc Thressa Chloe regit,
dulcis docta modos et citharae sciens,
pro qua non metuam mori
si parcent animae fata superstiti."

"Me torret face mutua
Thurini Calais filius Ornyti,
pro quo bis patiar mori,
si parcent puero fata superstiti."

"Quid si prisca redit Venus
diductosque iugo cogit aeneo?
si flava excutitur Chloe
reiectaeque patet ianua Lydiae?"

"Quamquam sidere pulchrior
ille est, tu levior cortice et improbo
iracundior Hadria,
tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens!"

"As long as I was pleasing to you
and any better young man was not giving
his arms to your bright neck,
I flourished, happier than the king of the Persians."

"As long as you burned for no other
more and Lydia was not after Chloe,
Lydia of many names,
I flourished brighter than Roman Ilia."

"Now Thracian Chloe rules me,
learned in sweet measures and skilled of the lyre,
for whom I would not fear to die
if the Fates will spare my surviving sweetheart."

"Thurinus Calais son of Ornytus burns
me with a mutual flame,
for whom I would suffer to die twice,
if the Fates will spare my surviving boy."

"What if ancient Venus returns
and forces the separated ones into a bronze yoke?
If blonde Chloe is cast out
and the door is open to scorned Lydia?"

"Although he is more beautiful
than a star, you are lighter than a cork and angrier
than the wicked Adriatic sea,
I would love to live with you, I, willing, would die with you!"

Friday, March 11, 2011

Horace, Ode 1.25

Parcius iunctas quatiunt fenestras
iactibus crebris iuvenes protervi,
nec tibi somnos adimunt, amatque
ianua limen,

quae prius multum facilis movebat
cardines. Audis minus et minus iam:
"Me tuo longas pereunte noctes
Lydia, dormis?"

Invicem moechos anus arrogantis
flebis in solo levis angiportu,
Thracio bacchante magis sub inter-
lunia vento,

cum tibi flagrans amor et libido,
quae solet matres furiare equorum,
saeviet circa iecur ulcerosum,
non sine questu,

laeta quod pubes hedera virenti
gaudeat pulla magis atque myrto,
aridas frondes hiemis sodali
dedicet Euro.

The bold young men less often shake
your joined windows with frequent throwings,
nor do they steal slumbers from you, and the door
loves the threshold,

which earlier was moving its hinges more
easily. You hear less and less now:
"With me wasting away long nights for you,
Lydia, you sleep?"

In turn a weak old woman you will cry for
arrogant adulterers in a lonely alley,
with the Thracian wind reveling more
on moonless nights,

when love and desire blazes for you,
such as is accustomed to madden the mothers of horses,
it will rage around your inflamed liver,
not without complaint,

because happy youth rejoices with the green ivy
more than the somber myrtle,
and dedicates the dry leaves to Euro,
the companion of winter.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Horace, Ode 3.26

Vixi puellis nuper idoneus
et militavi non sine gloria.
Nunc arma defunctumque bello
barbiton hic paries habebit,

laevum marinae qui Veneris latus
custodit. Hic, hic ponite lucida
funalia et vectes et arcus
oppositis foribus minacis.

O quae beatam diva tenes Cyprum et
Memphin carentem Sithonia nive,
regina, sublimi flagello
tange Chloen semel arrogantem.

Recently, I lived suitable for boys
and I served as a soldier not without glory.
Now this wall will have my weapons
and my lyre dead from war,

which guards the left side of marine
Venus. Here, here put the bright
torches and levers and bows
threatening to the opposite doors.

Oh, blessed goddess of Cyprus who holds
Memphis free from Sithonian snow,
queen, with your uplifted lash
touch arrogant Chloe once.

Horace, Ode 3.21

O nata mecum consule Manlio,
seu tu querelas sive geris iocos
seu rixam et insanos ameres
seu facilem, pia testa, somnum,

quocumque lectum nomine Massicum
servas, moveri digna bono die,
descende Corvino iubente
promere languidiora vina.

Non ille, quamquam Socraticis madet
sermonibus, te negleget horridus:
narratur et prisci Catonis
saepe mero caluisse virtus.

Tu lene tormentum ingenio admoves
plerumque duro; tu sapientium
curas et arcanum iocoso
consilium retegis Lyaeo;

tu spem reducis mentibus anxiis
viresque et addis cornua pauperi,
post te neque iratos trementi
regum apcies neque militum arma.

Te Liber et si laeta aderit Venus
senesque nodum slovere Gratiae
vivaeque producent lucernae,
dum rediens fugat astra Phoebus.

Oh pious jar, born by consul Manlius with me,
whether you carry complaints with jokes
or a fight and insane loves
or easy sleep,

You preserve select Massic wine under whatever
pretext, worthy to be brought down on an auspicious day,
descend by Corvinus ordering
to bring out a fainter wine.

That one, although he is wet with Socratic
speeches, will not be so austere as to neglect you:
and the virtue of ancient Cato is often said
to have grown warm with wine.

You apply a twist of the arm with an
unusually harsh nature; you reveal the problems
of philosophers and secret
debates to funny Bacchus;

you restore hope to anxious minds
and you increase strength and horns for the poor,
after you trembling at neither the angry crowns
of kings nor the weapons of soldiers.

Liber and Venus, if she arrives happy,
and the Graces slow to break their clasp
and the oil lamps alight will prolong you,
while Phoebus returning will chase away the stars.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Horace, Ode 1.23

Vitas inuleo me similis, Chloe,
quaerenti pavidam montibus aviis
matrem non sine vano
aurarum et siluae metu.

Nam seu mobilibus veris inhorruit
adventus foliis, seu virides rubum
dimovere lacertae,
et corde et genibus tremit.

Atqui non ego te tigris ut aspera
Gaetulusve leo frangere persequor:
tandem desine matrem
tempestiva sequi viro.

You avoid me like a fawn, Chloe,
searching for its fearful mother in lonely
mountains not without an empty fear
of breezes and the forest.

For whether the arrival of spring quivers
with moving leaves, or the green lizards have
pushed aside the bramble,
and the fawn trembles with its heart and knees.

And yet I do not pursue you to crush you
as a harsh tiger or Gaetulian lion:
finally you, ripe to follow a man,
abandon your mother.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Horace, Ode 1.27

Natis in usum laetitiae scyphis
pugnare Thracum est: tollite barbarum
morem, verecundumque Bacchum
sanguineis prohibete rixis.

Vino et lucernis Medus acinaces
immane quantum discrepat: impium
lenite clamorem, sodales,
et cubito remanete presso.

Vultis severi me quoque sumere
partem Falerni? Dicat Opuntiae
frater Megillae, quo beatus
vulnere, qua pereat sagitta.

Cessat voluntas? Non alia bibam
mercede. Quae te cumque comat Venus,
non erubescendis adurit
ignibus igenuoque semper

amore peccas. Quicquid habes, age,
depone tutis auribus. A miser,
quanta laborabas Charybdi,
digne puer meliore flamma!

Quae saga, quis te solvere Thessalis
magus venenis, quis poterit deus?
Vix illigatum te triformi
Pegasus expediet Chimaera.

It is Thracian to fight with bowls made for
the use of happiness: toss away the barbaric
custom, and defend modest Bacchus
from bloody battles.

How greatly the Persian dagger is at odds
with wine and oil lamps: calm the
impious shouting, friends,
and remain on your pressed elbows.

You wish me to likewise take up a part of
stern Falernian wine? The brother of
Opus will speak, by which wound he is
blessed, by which arrow he is wounded.

Does desire withdraw? I will drink for no other
price. With whom does Venus tame you,
she burns with no fires that you need blush
for and she always blunders with natural

love. Whatever you have, come on,
put it down on safe ears. Oh wretched one,
you labored over such a Charybdis,
boy worthy of better flame!

Which witch, which magician, which god is able
to release you from Thessalian poisons?
Pegasus will scarcely free you entangled
with a tri-formed Chimaera.

Horace, Ode 1.20

Vile potabis modicis Sabinum
cantharis, Graeca quod ego ipse testa
conditum levi, datus in theatro
cum tibi plausus,

care Maecenas eques, ut paterni
fluminis ripae simul et iocosa
redderet laudes tibi Vaticani
montis imago.

Caecubum et prelo domitam Caleno
tu bibes uvam: mea nec Falernae
temperant vites neque Formiani
pocula colles.

You will drink cheap Sabine wine from
plain cups, which I myself sealed, put into
Greek jars, when applause had been given
to you in the theater,

dear knight Maecenas, as at the same time
the banks of the ancestral river and the funny
echo of the Vaticanus mountain return
praises to you.

You may drink Caecuban wine and the grape
crushed with a Calenian wine-press; neither
Falernian vines nor Formian wines
flavor my cups.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Horace, Ode 1.18

Nullam, Vare, sacra vite prius severis arborem
circa mite solum Tibruis et moenia Catili;
siccis omnia nam dura deus proposiuit neque
mordaces aliter diffugiunt sollicitundines.
Quis post vina gravem militiam aut pauperiem crepat?
Quis non te potius, Bacche pater, teque decens Venus?
Ac ne quis modici transiliat munera Liberi,
Centaurea monet cum Lapithis rixa super mero
debellata, menet Sithoniis non levis Euhius,
cum fas atque nefas exiguo fine libidinum
discernunt avidi. Non ego te, candide Bassareu,
invitum quatiam nec variis obsita frondibus
sub divum rapiam. Saeva tene cum Berecyntio
cornu tympana, quae subsequitur caecus Amor sui
et tollens vacuam plus nimio Gloria verticem
arcanique Fides prodiga, perlucidior vitro.

Plant no tree, Varus, before the sacred vine
around the soft ground of the Tibur and walls of Catilus;
a god has ordained everything difficult for dry people and
biting anxieties don't flee in any other way.
Who rattles on about serious military service or poverty after wine?
Who does not rattle on more about you, father Bacchus, and you, comely Venus?
And yet anyone abuses the gifts of moderate Bacchus,
the battle fought to the bitter end of the Centaurs over their wine with the
Lapiths warns, Bacchus not light with the Thracians warns,
when those greedy of desire discern lawful from sin
with a small limit. I do not shake you, white Bacchus,
unwilling, nor do I snatch by the light of day your
sacred things covered with various leaves. Hold savage
drums and the horn from Berecyntus, which blind self-love follows
and Glory raising an empty crown too high and
Faith wasteful of secrets, more transparent than glass.

Horace, Ode 2.7

O saepe mecum tempus in ultimum
deducte Bruto militiae duce,
quis te redonavit Quiritem
dis patriis Italoque caelo,

Pompei, meorum prime sodalium,
cum quo morantem saepe diem mero
fregi, coronatus nitentis
malobathro Syrio capillos?

Tecum Philippos et celerem fugam
sensi relicta non bene parmula,
cum fracta virtus et minaces
turpe solum tetigere mento.

Sed me per hostis Mercurius celer
denso paventem sustulit aere;
te rursus in bellum resorbens
unda fretis tulit aestuosis.

Ergo obligatam redde Iovi dapem,
longaque fessum militia latus
depone sub lauru mea nec
parce cadis tibi destinatis.

Oblivioso levia Massico
ciboria exple, funde capacibus
unguenta de conchis. Quis udo
deproperare apio coronas

curatve myrto? Quem Venus arbitrum
dicet bibendi? Non ego sanius
bacchabor Edonis; recepto
dulce mihi furere est amico.

Oh Pompey, having been led often with me
into extreme peril with Brutus as leader of the military,
who returned you as a citizen to
your family gods and Italian sky,

first of my companions,
with whom I have often delayed the last day
with wine, crowned (as to my) hairs shining
with a Syrian plant?

With you I have experienced Philippi and a
swift escape with my little shield not well left behind,
when strength had been subdued and threatening people
touched the disgraceful ground with their chin.

But quick Mercury raised me, frightened,
through enemies in a dense air;
on the other hand, a wave swallowing you
brought you to war in a burning sea.

Therefore, render an owed feast to Jove,
and put down your side tired from long military
service under my laurel and do not
refrain from the jars intended for you.

Fill up the light cups with
Massican wine, pour oils into
the large shells. Who arranges to
hurry with the crowns with garland

or myrtle? Whom will Venus appoint
as master of drinking? I will not run wild
more safely than Thracians; it is sweet
for me to be wild with a recovered friend.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Horace, Ode 2.1

Motum ex Metello consule civicum
bellique causas et vitia et modos
ludumque Fortunae gravisque
principum amicitias et arma

nondum expiatis uncta cruoribus,
periculosae plenum opus aleae,
tractas et incedis per ignes
suppositos cineri doloso.

Paulum severae Musa tragoediae
desit theatris; mox, ubi publicas
res ordinaris, grande munus
Cecropio repetes cothurno,

insigne maestis praesidium reis
et consulenti, Pollio, curiae,
cui laurus aeternos honores
Delmatico peperit triumpho.

Iam nunc minaci murmure cornuum
perstringis auris, iam litui strepunt,
iam fulgor armorum fugacis
terret equos equitumque vultus.

Audire magnos iam videor duces,
non indecoro pulvere sordidos,
et cuncta terrarum subacta
praeter atrocem animum Catonis.

Iuno et deorum quisquis amicior
Afris inulta cesserat impotens
tellure victorum nepotes
rettulit inferias Iugurthae.

Quis non Latino sanguine pinguior
campus sepulcris impia proelia
testatur auditumque Medis
Hesperiae sonitum ruinae?

Qui gurges aut quae flumina lugubris
ignara belli? Quod mare Dauniae
non decoloravere caedes?
Quae caret ora cruore nostro?

Sed ne relictis, Musa procax, iocis
Ceae retractes munera neniae,
mecum Dionaeo sub antro
quaere modos leviore plectro.

You handle civil wars from Metellus' consulship
and the causes of war and crime and tactics
and the game of Fortune and important
friendships of leaders and weapons

smeared with not yet expiated blood,
work full of the dangers of dice,
and you are advancing through fire
placed under dreadful ash.

Let the Muse of serious tragedy be
absent from theaters for a short while; soon, when
you will arrange public things, you will return to
your grand calling in a Cecropian boot,

your famous support for sad defendants
and the deciding senate, Pollio,
the laurel has produced the eternal honors
for your Dalmatian triumph.

Even now you deafen ears with the threatening
murmur of the trumpet, now the horns resound,
now the brightness of weapons frightens
swift horses and the faces of horsemen.

Now I seem to hear great leaders,
grimy with not-shameful dust,
and all of the land subdued
except for the stern spirit of Cato.

Juno and whoever of the gods friendly to
Africa had withdrawn helpless from the unpunished
earth, the grandsons of the victorious
brought back sacrifices to Iugurtha.

Which field fatter from Latin blood
does not bear witness to impious battles
from graves and the sound of the fall
of the West approaching to Medis?

Which sea or which rivers are ignorant
of mournful war? Which murder of Daunius
is not in a stained sea?
Which shore is without our blood?

But, impudent Muse, may you reconsider your
gift of Cean incantation with an abandoned joke,
me with Dione under a cave
to seek the measures with a lighter quill.

Horace, Ode 1.37

Nunc est bibendum, nun pede libero
pulsanda tellus, nunc Saliaribus
ornare pulvinar deorum
tempus erat dapibus, sodales.

Antehac nefas depromere Caecubum
cellis avitis, dum Capitolio
regina dementis ruinas,
funus et imperio parabat

contaminato cum grege turpium
morbo virorum, quidlibet impotens
sperare fortunaque dulci
ebria. Sed minuit furorem

vix una sospes navis ab ignibus,
mentemque lymphatam Mareotico
redegit in veros timores
Caesar, ab Italia volantem

remis adurgens, accipiter velut
mollis coumbas aut leporem citus
venator in campis nivalis
Haemoniae, daret ut catenis

fatale monstrum. Quae generosius
perire quaerens nec muliebriter
expavit ensem nec latentis
classe cita reparavit oras;

ausa et iacentem visere regiam
vultu sereno, fortis et asperas
tractare serpentes, ut atrum
corpore combiberet venenum,

deliberata morte ferocior;
saevis LIburnis scilicet invidens
privata deduci superbo
non humilis mulier triumpho.

Now there must be drinking, now the earth
is about to be beat with free foot, now was
the time to furnish the couch of the gods
with feasts of the Salii, companions.

Before this, it was a sin to draw out wine
from ancestral wine cellars, while the
queen of demented people was preparing
the destruction and fall from power for the Capitoline,

with the polluted herd of men
shameful with sickness, mad enough to hope
for anything at all and drunk with sweet
fortune. But one ship

safe from the fires scarcely diminished her fury,
and Caesar drove back the mind soaked
with Mareotic wine to true fears,
pursuing with oars

the flying one from Italy, just as a hawk
pursues the soft doves or the swift hunter
pursues the rabbit in the fields of snowy
Thessaly, to throw into chains

the deadly monster. But she more nobly
seeking to die neither became frightened of
the sword in a womanly way nor prepared
the hidden shores with a quick fleet;

She dared to visit the lying city
with a calm face, strongly brought out the
bitter serpents, so that she could swallow
the black poison into her body,

more ferocious in a deliberate death;
certainly begrudging the savage Liburnians
to be led as a private citizen in an arrogant triumph,
not a humble woman.