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The Complete Odes and Epodes

Page 12

by Horace


  The soul content with the present

  is not concerned with the future and tempers

  dismay with an easy laugh. No

  blessing is unmixed.

  An early death snatched bright Achilles;

  30

  long senility reduced Tithonus:

  this hour will offer to me, maybe, the good

  it denies to you.

  For you a hundred herds of Sicilian

  cattle moo; for you are bred

  neighing mares apt for the chariot;

  you dress in twice-dyed

  Tyrian purple wool: to me honest Fate

  has given a little farm, the delicate breath

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  of the Grecian Muse, and disdain

  for the jealous mob.

  17

  Cur me querelis

  Why do you stifle me so with complaining?

  It is neither my will nor that of the Gods

  that I should die before you, Maecenas,

  you glory and mighty prop of my affairs.

  If some untimely blow should take you,

  the half of my heart, ah, why should I linger,

  neither loved as before nor surviving

  whole? The selfsame day shall bring

  us both our doom. I have taken

  10

  no false oath: we shall go, we shall go,

  whenever you lead the way, comrades prepared

  to take the last journey together.

  No fiery breath of Chimaera, nor hundred-

  handed Gyas, should he rise in our way,

  shall ever tear me from you; this is the will

  of the Fates and of mighty Justice.

  Whether formidable Scorpio, or Libra,

  or Capricorn (lord of the Western sea)

  oversaw with more powerful

  20

  influence my nativity,

  your stars and mine accord in the most

  incredible manner. The protection of Jove,

  outshining baleful Saturn,

  rescued you and hindered the wings

  of impatient Fate when the thronging public

  in the Theatre broke three times into glad applause:

  a tree-trunk falling on my head

  would have made away with me had not Faunus,

  the guard of Mercurial men, warded off the blow

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  with his hand. Remember to offer

  a votive shrine with victims:

  and I will sacrifice a humble lamb.

  18

  Non ebur neque aureum

  No ivory or gilded

  panels gleam in my house; no

  beams from Hymettus

  press on columns quarried in Africa’s

  heartland; I have not

  unexpectedly inherited a palace from Attalus;

  I have no retinue

  of ladies trailing Laconian purple

  robes. I am loyal, however,

  10

  and of a kindly humour: though poor,

  am courted by the rich. Content

  with my Sabine farm, I make no more suits

  to my powerful friend,

  seek nothing further from the Gods above.

  Each day drives out the day

  before, new moons make haste to wane:

  yet you, on the brink of the grave,

  contract for the cutting of marble slabs;

  forgetful of death you fret

  20

  to build your mansion out from the coast

  in the roaring sea at Baiae –

  the mainland shore will not suffice.

  What do you hope to achieve

  by tearing down fences and avidly

  jumping your tenants’

  boundaries? Men and women are evicted,

  clutching to their breasts

  both household Gods and ragged children.

  And yet no hall more certainly

  30

  awaits the rich grandee than does rapacious

  Orcus’ predestined

  bourne. What more can you need? Earth

  opens impartially for paupers

  and the sons of kings, and Charon could not

  be bribed to ferry back

  even resourceful Prometheus. He holds

  Tantalus and Tantalus’

  progeny, and whether or not invoked

  is alert to disburden

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  the serf when his labour is done.

  19

  Bacchum in remotis

  I have seen Bacchus amid far rocks

  (believe me, posterity)

  teaching paeans to attentive Nymphs

  and goat-foot Satyrs with pointed ears.

  Evoe! My heart is thrilled with awe still new

  and wildly rejoices, my breast is so full

  of Bacchus. Evoe! Spare me, spare me,

  Liber, so feared for your rigorous rod.

  My holy task is to sing of the unremitting

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  Bacchantes, rehearse the spring of wine,

  the brooks of rich milk and the honey

  dropping from hollow trees;

  my holy task your deified queen’s reward

  among the stars, the palace of Pentheus

  overturned in grievous ruins, eradication

  of Thracian Lycurgus.

  You control rivers, you the savage sea;

  on the distant ridges, euphoric,

  you bind the hair of Bistonian

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  women with harmless vipers;

  you, when the mutinous company of Giants

  would climb steep-up to the realms of the Father,

  put on the terrible lion’s claws

  and fangs and hurled back Rhoetus.

  Though held to be more fit for dancing,

  jokes and games, not competent

  for battle, yet you have been

  in the thick of war as well as at peace.

  Cerberus saw you comely with your golden horn

  30

  and did not harm you, but mildly

  wagged his tail, and as you passed he lightly

  touched your feet with his triple tongue.

  20

  Non usitata

  A bard, I shall travel two-formed

  in the clear aether upon no common

  or feeble wings, nor linger

  on earth, nor (bigger than envy)

  desert the City. I, whose blood is

  of indigent stock, I, whom you invite,

  belovèd Maecenas, shall never perish

  nor be confined by the waves of Styx.

  Already dry skin becomes the norm

  10

  on my shins, on top I transmogrify

  to a white swan, soft down begins

  to appear on my fingers and shoulders.

  Soon, a melodious bird, more known

  than Icarus son of Daedalus, I shall view

  the Hyperborean prairies, the Syrtes,

  the Bosphorus’ sighing seashore.

  Colchians, Dacians (dissimulating fear

  of our Marsian cohorts) and remote Geloni

  shall come to study me, by glossing me

  20

  Spaniards and drinkers of Rhône grow wise.

  Omit from my delusive funeral rites

  the dirge and ugly grief and lamentations:

  restrain all outcry, forgo

  the bootless tribute of a tomb.

  ODES

  BOOK III

  1

  Odi profanum vulgus

  I shun and keep removed the uninitiate crowd.

  I require silence: I am the Muses’ priest

  and sing for virgins and boys

  songs never heard before.

  Dread kings rule over their own,

  but over those kings is the rule of Jove,

  famed for the Giants’ defeat,

  governing all by the lift of his eyebrow.

  It is true tha
t one man plants vineyards larger

  10

  than his neighbour’s; that in the Campus

  one candidate for office is of nobler blood;

  another of greater reputation

  and worth; another has a bigger crowd

  of retainers: but with impartial justice

  Necessity chooses from high and low,

  the capacious urn shuffles every name.

  Sicilian feasts will distil

  no sweet savour, nor will the music

  of birds and citharas restore

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  his sleep above whose neck

  the drawn sword hangs: soft sleep

  does not disdain the cottages

  of rustics nor the shady bank

  nor Tempe fanned by Zephyrs.

  Tumultuous seas and the furious onset

  of setting Arcturus or rising Haedus

  do not deter the man

  who desires no more than his needs –

  not by lashing his vines with hail,

  30

  nor by fickle farmland, the trees

  now blaming the floods, now stars

  that parch the field, now hostile winter.

  Fishes perceive the sea diminished

  by foundations laid in the deep: here

  the contractor and thronging slaves

  and the master disdaining the land

  lower stones. But Fear and Threats arise

  to the selfsame mark as the owner, nor does

  black Care quit the bronze-beaked trireme

  40

  and even mounts behind the horseman.

  If neither Phrygian marbles nor purples

  more lustrous than starlight

  nor Falernian vines nor Persian nards

  can comfort one grieving,

  why should I construct a lofty hall

  in the latest style with enviable pillars;

  why would I change my Sabine dale

  for burdensome wealth?

  2

  Angustam amice

  Let the healthy boy learn to suffer

  strait poverty gladly in hard campaigns;

  as lancer molest with his point

  the barbarous Parthian natives

  and lead a fresh air life amid perilous

  undertakings. From enemy ramparts

  a queen and her daughter shall groan

  for some struggling tyrant:

  ‘Dear husband and father, alas,

  10

  unseasoned in warfare, do not provoke

  with a touch that bloody lion

  berserk amid the slaughter!’

  It is sweet and proper to die for one’s country

  and death harries even the man who flees

  nor spares the hamstrings or cowardly

  backs of battle-shy youths.

  Manhood ignores the smear of outvoting

  and shines with unalloyed esteem,

  nor assumes nor resigns the fasces

  20

  at the waftings of public opinion.

  Manhood reveals their heaven to those

  who deserve not to die, attempts the narrow pass,

  and spurns with its soaring wings

  the common crowd, the muddy ground.

  Safe the recompense likewise of loyal

  tact: who broadcasts the mysteries of Ceres

  shall be forbidden to lie beneath

  the same timbers or sail the same dinghy

  as me – slighted, the Ancient of Days is apt

  30

  to confuse the innocent with the guilty:

  though lame in one foot, Retribution

  rarely abandons the Sinner’s trail.

  3

  Iustum et tenacem

  The just man tenacious of his purpose

  will not be shaken from his set resolve

  by the inflamed citizenry demanding wrong,

  nor by the impending face of a tyrant, nor Auster

  the troubled master of the restless Adriatic,

  nor the mighty hand of thundering Jove:

  were the sky itself to fracture and collapse,

  the wreckage would immolate him unafraid.

  By such address both Pollux and roving Hercules

  10

  aspired to and reached the starry citadels,

  reclining with whom Augustus shall

  sip nectar with empurpled lips.

  On account of such merit, father Bacchus,

  you were conveyed by tigers bearing yokes

  on untamed necks; and you, Quirinus,

  with Mars’s steeds escaped from Acheron

  as Juno in the Gods’ council

  enounced the welcome speech: ‘Ilium, Ilium

  has been reduced to dust

  20

  by a fated, partial judge

  and a foreign woman: for since Laomedon

  cheated the Gods of their contracted pay

  the city with its people and treacherous king

  has been forfeit to me and to chaste Minerva.

  The egregious guest no longer dazzles

  his Spartan adulteress, nor can the perjured house

  of Priam with Hector adjuvant

  throw back the besieging Greeks:

  the war that our vendettas prolonged

  30

  is now resolved. Henceforth my great wrath

  is at an end. I shall restore to Mars

  my hateful grandson the Trojan

  priestess bore: I shall suffer him

  to enter the abodes of light,

  to imbibe the quickening nectar,

  to be enrolled in the Gods’ calm ranks.

  As long as broad ocean seethes between

  Troy and Rome, let the bless’d exiles rule

  wherever they will; as long as cattle trample

  40

  the memorials of Paris and Priam

  where beasts with impunity hide

  their cubs, so long may the gleaming Capitol

  stand and brave Rome dictate terms

  to the Medes and subject them to Triumphs:

  feared far and wide, let her name extend

  to ultimate borders where intervening waters

  part Europe from the Moors; where Nile

  by flooding irrigates the fields.

  Let her be stronger by spurning at unprospected gold

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  (and better so located, concealed in earth)

  than by mining it out for human use

  with hands that plunder all things sacred.

  Whatever limit bounds the world

  may her forces reach it, eager to view

  both the frenzied dancing of heat

  and mists and veils of rain.

  But the fate of the warlike Romans is subject

 

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