---
title: "Odes · Carmina"
author: "Horace"
translator: "John Conington"
title_ru: "Оды"
author_ru: "Гораций"
languages: [la, en]
shelf: "Classical Latin"
section: 4 of 4
url: https://scriptura.si/works/horace-odes/4/
cite: "Horace, tr. John Conington, Odes · Carmina, section 4. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/horace-odes/4/"
---

# Odes · Carmina

*Horace, tr. John Conington*

Russian: Оды, Гораций

Four books of lyric: friendship, wine, love and the passing of time. Carpe diem.

> Latin: ed. Paul Shorey, from the Perseus Digital Library (canonical-latinLit, phi0893.phi001, CC BY-SA 4.0).

> English: John Conington, from the Perseus Digital Library (phi0893.phi001.perseus-eng2). Notes are not included.

> Rows follow the references the two texts share (line numbers), cut where both reach the end of a sentence.

## 4. Book IV

Source: https://scriptura.si/works/horace-odes/4/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/horace-odes/4/#p-N

[¶0] Yet again thou wak'st the flame
That long had slumber'd! Spare me, Venus, spare!

> Latin: Intermissa, Venus, diu
rursus bella moves? parce, precor precor.

[¶1] Trust me, I am not the same
As in the reign of Cinara, kind and fair.
Cease thy softening spells to prove
On this old heart, by fifty years made hard,
Cruel Mother of sweet Love!
Haste, where gay youth solicits thy regard.

> Latin: non sum qualis eram bonae
sub regno Cinarae. desine, dulcium
mater saeva Cupidinum,
circa lustra decem flectere mollibus
iam durum imperiis: abi,
quo blandae iuvenum te revocant preces.

[¶2] With thy purple cygnets fly
To Paullus' door, a seasonable guest;
There within hold revelry,
There light thy flame in that congenial breast.

> Latin: tempestivius in domum
Pauli purpureis ales oloribus
comissabere Maximi,
si torrere iecur quaeris idoneum;

[¶3] He, with birth and beauty graced,
The trembling client's champion, ne'er tongue-tied,
Master of each manly taste,
Shall bear thy conquering banners far and wide.
Let him smile in triumph gay,
True heart, victorious over lavish hand,
By the Alban lake that day
'Neath citron roof all marble shalt thou stand:

> Latin: namque et nobilis et decens
et pro sollicitis non tacitus reis
et centum puer artium
late signa feret militiae tuae
et, quandoque potentior
largi muneribus riserit aemuli,
Albanos prope te lacus
ponet marmoream sub trabe citrea.

[¶4] Incense there and fragrant spice
With odorous fumes thy nostrils shall salute;
Blended notes thine ear entice,
The lyre, the pipe, the Berecyntine flute:

> Latin: illic plurima naribus
duces tura lyraeque et Berecyntiae
delectabere tibiae
mixtis carminibus non sine fistula;

[¶5] Graceful youths and maidens bright
Shall twice a day thy tuneful praise resound,
While their feet, so fair and white,
In Salian measure three times beat the ground.

> Latin: illic bis pueri die
numen cum teneris virginibus tuum
laudantes pede candido
in morem Salium ter quatient humum.

[¶6] I can relish love no more,
Nor flattering hopes that tell me hearts are true,
Nor the revel's loud uproar,
Nor fresh-wreathed flowerets, bathed in vernal dew.

> Latin: me nec femina nec puer
iam nec spes animi credula mutui
nec certare iuvat mero
nec vincire novis tempora floribus.

[¶7] Ah! but why, my Ligurine,
Steal trickling tear-drops down my wasted cheek?

> Latin: sed cur heu, Ligurine, cur
manat rara meas lacrima per genas?

[¶8] Wherefore halts this tongue of mine,
So eloquent once, so faltering now and weak?

> Latin: cur facunda parum decoro
inter verba cadit lingua silentio?

[¶9] Now I hold you in my chain,
And clasp you close, all in a nightly dream;
Now, still dreaming, o'er the plain
I chase you; now, ah cruel! down the stream.
Who fain at Pindar's flight would aim,
On waxen wings, Iulus, he
Soars heavenward, doom'd to give his name
To some new sea.
Pindar, like torrent from the steep
Which, swollen with rain, its banks o'erflows,
With mouth unfathomably deep,
Foams, thunders, glows,
All worthy of Apollo's bay,
Whether in dithyrambic roll
Pouring new words he burst away
Beyond control,
Or gods and god-born heroes tell,
Whose arm with righteous death could tame
Grim Centaurs, tame Chimaeras fell,
Out-breathing flame,
Or bid the boxer or the steed
In deathless pride of victory live,
And dower them with a nobler meed
Than sculptors give,
Or mourn the bridegroom early torn
From his young bride, and set on high
Strength, courage, virtue's golden morn,
Too good to die.
Antonius! yes, the winds blow free,
When Dirce's swan ascends the skies,
To waft him. I, like Matine bee,
In act and guise,
That culls its sweets through toilsome hours,
Am roaming Tibur's banks along,
And fashioning with puny powers
A laboured song.
Your Muse shall sing in loftier strain
How Caesar climbs the sacred height,
The fierce Sygambrians in his train,
With laurel dight,
Than whom the Fates ne'er gave mankind
A richer treasure or more dear,
Nor shall, though earth again should find
The golden year.

> Latin: nocturnis ego somniis
iam captum teneo, iam volucrem sequor
te per gramina Martii
campi, te per aquas, dure, volubilis.
Pindarum quisquis studet aemulari,
Iulle, ceratis ope Daedalea
nititur pennis vitreo daturus
nomina ponto.
monte decurrens velut amnis, imbres
quem super notas aluere ripas,
fervet inmensusque ruit profundo
Pindarus ore,
laurea donandus Apollinari,
seu per audacis nova dithyrambos
verba devolvit numerisque fertur
lege solutis,
seu deos regesque canit, deorum
sanguinem, per quos cecidere iusta
morte Centauri, cecidit tremendae
flamma Chimaerae,
sive quos Elea domum reducit
palma caelestis pugilemve equomve
dicit et centum potiore signis
munere donat,
flebili sponsae iuvenemve raptum
plorat et viris animumque moresque
aureos educit in astra nigroque
invidet Orco.
multa Dircaeum levat aura cycnum,
tendit, Antoni, quotiens in altos
nubium tractus: ego apis Matinae
more modoque
grata carpentis thyma per laborem
plurimum circa nemus uvidique
Tiburis ripas operosa parvos
carmina fingo.
concines maiore poeta plectro
Caesarem, quandoque trahet ferocis
per sacrum clivum merita decorus
fronde Sygambros;
quo nihil maius meliusve terris
fata donavere bonique divi
nec dabunt, quamvis redeant in aurum
tempora priscum.

[¶10] Your Muse shall tell of public sports,
And holyday, and votive feast,
For Caesar's sake, and brawling courts
Where strife has ceased.

> Latin: concines laetosque dies et urbis
publicum ludum super inpetrato
fortis Augusti reditu forumque
litibus orbum.

[¶11] Then, if my voice can aught avail,
Grateful for him our prayers have won,
My song shall echo, “Hail, all hail,
Auspicious Sun!”

> Latin: tum meae, si quid loquar audiendum,
vocis accedet bona pars et “o sol
pulcher, o laudande!” canam recepto
Caesare felix.

[¶12] There as you move, “Ho! Triumph, ho!
Great Triumph!” once and yet again
All Rome shall cry, and spices strow
Before your train.

> Latin: teque, dum procedis, “Io Triumphe”
non semel dicemus, “Io Triumphe”
civitas omnis dabimusque divis
tura benignis.

[¶13] Ten bulls, ten kine, your debt discharge:
A calf new-wean'd from parent cow,
Battening on pastures rich and large,
Shall quit my vow.
Like moon just dawning on the night
The crescent honours of his head;
One dapple spot of snowy white,
The rest all red.
He whom thou, Melpomene,
Hast welcomed with thy smile, in life arriving,
Ne'er by boxer's skill shall be
Renown'd abroad, for Isthmian mastery striving;
Him shall never fiery steed
Draw in Achaean car a conqueror seated;
Him shall never martial deed
Show, crown'd with bay, after proud kings defeated,
Climbing Capitolian steep:
But the cool streams that make green Tibur flourish,
And the tangled forest deep,
On soft Aeolian airs his fame shall nourish.
Rome, of cities first and best,
Deigns by her sons' according voice to hail me
Fellow-bard of poets blest,
And faint and fainter envy's growls assail me.
Goddess, whose Pierian art
The lyre's sweet sounds can modulate and measure,
Who to dumb fish canst impart
The music of the swan, if such thy pleasure:
O, 'tis all of thy dear grace
That every finger points me out in going
Lyrist of the Roman race;
Breath, power to charm, if mine, are thy bestowing!
E'en as the lightning's minister,
Whom Jove o'er all the feather'd breed
Made sovereign, having proved him sure
Erewhile on auburn Ganymede;
Stirr'd by warm youth and inborn power,
He quits the nest with timorous wing,
For winter's storms have ceased to lower,
And zephyrs of returuing spring
Tempt him to launch on unknown skies
Next on the fold he stoops downright;
Last on resisting serpents flies,
Athirst for foray and for flight:
As tender kidling on the grass
Espies, uplooking from her food,
A lion's whelp, and knows, alas!
Those new-set teeth shall drink her blood:
So look'd the Raetian mountaineers
On Drusus:—whence in every field
They learn'd through immemorial years
The Amazonian axe to wield,
I ask not now: not all of truth
We seekers find: enough to know
The wisdom of the princely youth
Has taught our erst victorious foe
What prowess dwells in boyish hearts
Rear'd in the shrine of a pure home,
What strength Augustus' love imparts
To Nero's seed, the hope of Rome.
Good sons and brave good sires approve:
Strong bullocks, fiery colts, attest
Their fathers' worth, nor weakling dove
Is hatch'd in savage eagle's nest.
But care draws forth the power within,
And cultured minds are strong for good:
Let manners fail, the plague of sin
Taints e'en the course of gentle blood.
How great thy debt to Nero's race,
O Rome, let red Metaurus say,
Slain Hasdrubal, and victory's grace
First granted on that glorious day
Which chased the clouds, and show'd the sun,
When Hannibal o'er Italy
Ran, as swift flames o'er pine-woods run,
Or Eurus o'er Sicilia's sea.
Henceforth, by fortune aiding toil,
Rome's prowess grew: her fanes, laid waste
By Punic sacrilege and spoil,
Beheld at length their gods replaced.
Then the false Libyan own'd his doom:—
“Weak deer, the wolves' predestined prey,
Blindly we rush on foes, from whom
'Twere triumph won to steal away.
That race which, strong from Ilion's fires,
Its gods, on Tuscan waters tost,
Its sons, its venerable sires,
Bore to Ausonia's citied coast;
That race, like oak by axes shorn
On Algidus with dark leaves rife,
Laughs carnage, havoc, all to scorn,
And draws new spirit from the knife.

> Latin: te decem tauri totidemque vaccae,
me tener solvet vitulus, relicta
matre qui largis iuvenescit herbis
in mea vota,
fronte curvatos imitatus ignis
tertium lunae referentis ortum,
qua notam duxit, niveus videri,
cetera fulvos.
Quem tu, Melpomene, semel
nascentem placido lumine videris,
illum non labor Isthmius
clarabit pugilem, non equos inpiger
curru ducet Achaico
victorem neque res bellica Deliis
ornatum foliis ducem,
quod regum tumidas contuderit minas,
ostendet Capitolio:
sed quae Tibur aquae fertile praefluunt
et spissae nemorum comae
fingent Aeolio carmine nobilem.
Romae principis urbium
dignatur suboles inter amabilis
vatum ponere me choros
et iam dente minus mordeor invido.
o testudinis aureae
dulcem quae strepitum, Pieri, temperas,
o mutis quoque piscibus
donatura cycni, si libeat, sonum,
totum muneris hoc tui est,
quod monstror digito praetereuntium
Romanae fidicen lyrae:
quod spiro et placeo, si placeo, tuum est.
Qualem ministrum fulminis alitem,
cui rex deorum regnum in avis vagas
permisit expertus fidelem
Iuppiter in Ganymede flavo,
olim iuventas et patrius vigor
nido laborum propulit inscium,
vernique iam nimbis remotis
insolitos docuere nisus
venti paventem, mox in ovilia
demisit hostem vividus impetus,
nunc in reluctantis dracones
egit amor dapis atque pugnae;
qualemve laetis caprea pascuis
intenta fulvae matris ab ubere
iam lacte depulsum leonem
dente novo peritura vidit:
videre Raetis bella sub Alpibus
Drusum gerentem Vindelici. quibus
mos unde deductus per omne
tempus Amazonia securi
dextras obarmet, quaerere distuli
nec scire fas est omnia, sed diu
lateque victrices catervae
consiliis iuvenis revictae
sensere, quid mens rite, quid indoles
nutrita faustis sub penetralibus
posset, quid Augusti paternus
in pueros animus Nerones.
fortes creantur fortibus et bonis:
est in iuvencis, est in equis patrum
virtus neque inbellem feroces
progenerant aquilae columbam.
doctrina sed vim promovet insitam
rectique cultus pectora roborant;
utcumque defecere mores,
indecorant bene nata culpae.
quid debeas, o Roma, Neronibus,
testis Metaurum flumen et Hasdrubal
devictus et pulcher fugatis
ille dies Latio tenebris,
qui primus alma risit adorea,
dirus per urbis Afer ut Italas
ceu flamma per taedas vel Eurus
per Siculas equitavit undas.
post hoc secundis usque laboribus
Romana pubes crevit et inpio
vastata Poenorum tumultu
fana deos habuere rectos.
dixitque tandem perfidus Hannibal:
“cervi, luporum praeda rapacium,
sectamur ultro quos opimus
fallere et effugere est triumphus.
gens, quae cremato fortis ab Ilio
iactata Tuscis aequoribus sacra
natosque maturosque patres
pertulit Ausonias ad urbis,
duris ut ilex tonsa bipennibus
nigrae feraci frondis in Algido,
per damna, per caedis ab ipso
ducit opes animumque ferro.

[¶14] Not the lopp'd Hydra task'd so sore
Alcides, chafing at the foil:
No pest so fell was born of yore
From Colchian or from Theban soil.

> Latin: non hydra secto corpore firmior
vinci dolentem crevit in Herculem
monstrumve submisere Colchi
maius Echioniaeve Thebae.

[¶15] Plunged in the deep, it mounts to sight
More splendid: grappled, it will quell
Unbroken powers, and fight a fight
Whose story widow'd wives shall tell.

> Latin: merses profundo, pulchrior evenit;
luctere, multa proruet integrum
cum laude victorem geretque
proelia coniugibus loquenda.

[¶16] No heralds shall my deeds proclaim
To Carthage now: lost, lost is all:
A nation's hope, a nation's name,
They died with dying Hasdrubal.”

> Latin: Carthagini iam non ego nuntios
mittam superbos: occidit, occidit
spes omnis et fortuna nostri
nominis Hasdrubale interempto.

[¶17] What will not Claudian hands achieve?
Jove's favour is their guiding star,
And watchful potencies unweave
For them the tangled paths of war.
Best guardian of Rome's people, dearest boon
Of a kind Heaven, thou lingerest all too long:
Thou bad'st thy senate look to meet thee soon:
Do not thy promise wrong.
Restore, dear chief, the light thou tak'st away:
Ah! when, like spring, that gracious mien of thine
Dawns on thy Rome, more gently glides the day,
And suns serener shine.
See her whose darling child a long year past
Has dwelt beyond the wild Carpathian foam;
That long year o'er, the envious southern blast
Still bars him from his home:
Weeping and praying to the shore she clings,
Nor ever thence her straining eyesight turns:
So, smit by loyal passion's restless stings,
Rome for her Caesar yearns.
In safety range the cattle o'er the mead:
Sweet Peace, soft Plenty, swell the golden grain:
O'er unvex'd seas the sailors blithely speed:
Fair Honour shrinks from stain:
No guilty lusts the shrine of home defile:
Cleansed is the hand without, the heart within:
The father's features in his children smile
Swift vengeance follows sin.
Who fears the Parthian or the Scythian horde,
Or the rank growth that German forests yield,
While Caesar lives? who trembles at the sword
The fierce Iberians wield?
In his own hills each labours down the day,
Teaching the vine to clasp the widow'd tree:
Then to his cups again, where, feasting gay,
He hails his god in thee.
A household power, adored with prayers and wine,
Thou reign'st auspicious o'er his hour of ease:
Thus grateful Greece her Castor made divine,
And her great Hercules.
Ah! be it thine long holydays to give
To thy Hesperia! thus, dear chief, we pray
At sober sunrise; thus at mellow eve,
When ocean hides the day.
Thou who didst make thy vengeful might
To Niobe and Tityos known,
And Peleus' son, when Troy's tall height
Was nigh his own,
Victorious else, for thee no peer,
Though, strong in his sea-parent's power,
He shook with that tremendous spear
The Dardan tower.
He, like a pine by axes sped,
Or cypress sway'd by angry gust,
Fell ruining, and laid his head
In Trojan dust.
Not his to lie in covert pent
Of the false steed, and sudden fall
On Priam's ill-starr'd merriment
In bower and hail:
His ruthless arm in broad bare day
The infant from the breast had torn,
Nay, given to flame, ah, well a way!
The babe unborn:
But, won by Venus' voice and thine,
Relenting Jove Aeneas will'd
With other omens more benign
New walls to build.
Sweet tuner of the Grecian lyre,
Whose locks are laved in Xanthus' dews,
Blooming Agyieus! help, inspire
My Daunian Muse!
'Tis Phoebus, Phoebus gifts my tongue
With minstrel art and minstrel fires:
Come, noble youths and maidens sprung
From noble sires,
Blest in your Dian's guardian smile,
Whose shafts the flying silvans stay,
Come, foot the Lesbian measure, while
The lyre I play:
Sing of Latona's glorious boy,
Sing of night's queen with crescent horn,
Who wings the fleeting months with joy,
And swells the corn.
And happy brides shall say, “'Twas mine,
When years the cyclic season brought,
To chant the festal hymn divine
By Horace taught.”
The snow is fled: the trees their leaves put on,
The fields their green:
Earth owns the change, and rivers lessening run
Their banks between.
Naked the Nymphs and Graces in the meads
The dance essay:
“No 'scaping death” proclaims the year, that speeds
This sweet spring day.
Frosts yield to zephyrs; Summer drives out Spring,
To vanish, when
Rich Autumn sheds his fruits; round wheels the ring,—
Winter again!
Yet the swift moons repair Heaven's detriment:
We, soon as thrust
Where good Aeneas, Tullus, Ancus went,
What are we? dust.
Can Hope assure you one more day to live
From powers above?
You rescue from your heir whate'er you give
The self you love.
When life is o'er, and Minos has rehearsed
The grand last doom,
Not birth, nor eloquence, nor worth, shall burst
Torquatus' tomb.
Not Dian's self can chaste Hippolytus
To life recall,
Nor Theseus free his loved Pirithous
From Lethe's thrall.
Ah Censorinus! to my comrades true
Rich cups, rare bronzes, gladly would I send:
Choice tripods from Olympia on each friend
Would I confer, choicer on none than you,
Had but my fate such gems of art bestow'd
As cunning Scopas or Parrhasius wrought,
This with the brush, that with the chisel taught
To image now a mortal, now a god.
But these are not my riches: your desire
Such luxury craves not, and your means disdain:
A poet's strain you love; a poet's strain
Accept, and learn the value of the lyre.
Not public gravings on a marble base,
Whence comes a second life to men of might
E'en in the tomb: not Hannibal's swift flight,
Nor those fierce threats flung back into his face,
Not impious Carthage in its last red blaze,
In clearer light sets forth his spotless fame,
Who from crush'd Afric took away—a name,
Than rude Calabria's tributary lays.
Let silence hide the good your hand has wrought,
Farewell, reward! Had blank oblivion's power
Dimm'd the bright deeds of Romulus, at this hour,
Despite his sire and mother, he were nought.
Thus Aeacus has 'scaped the Stygian wave,
By grace of poets and their silver tongue,
Henceforth to live the happy isles among.
No, trust the Muse: she opes the good man's grave,
And lifts him to the gods. So Hercules,
His labours o'er, sits at the board of Jove:
So Tyndareus' offspring shine as stars above,
Saving lorn vessels from the yawning seas:
So Bacchus, with the vine-wreath round his hair,
Gives prosperous issue to his votary's prayer.
Think not those strains can e'er expire,
Which, cradled 'mid the echoing roar
Of Aufidus, to Latium's lyre
I sing with arts unknown before.
Though Homer fill the foremost throne,
Yet grave Stesichorus still can please,
And fierce Alcaeus holds his own
With Pindar and Simonides.
The songs of Teos are not mute,
And Sappho's love is breathing still:
She told her secret to the lute,
And yet its chords with passion thrill.
Not Sparta's queen alone was fired
By broider'd robe and braided tress,
And all the splendours that attired
Her lover's guilty loveliness:
Not only Teucer to the field
His arrows brought, nor Ilion
Beneath a single conqueror reel'd:
Not Crete's majestic lord alone,
Or Sthenelus, earn'd the Muses' crown:
Not Hector first for child and wife,
Or brave Deiphobus, laid down
The burden of a manly life.
Before Atrides men were brave:
But ah! oblivion, dark and long,
Has lock'd them in a tearless grave,
For lack of consecrating song.
'Twixt worth and baseness, lapp'd in death,
What difference? You shall ne'er be dumb,
While strains of mine have voice and breath:
The dull neglect of days to come
Those hard-won honours shall not blight:
No, Lollius, no: a soul is yours,
Clear-sighted, keen, alike upright
When fortune smiles, and when she lowers:
To greed and rapine still severe,
Spurning the gain men find so sweet:
A consul, not of one brief year,
But oft as on the judgment-seat
You bend the expedient to the right,
Turn haughty eyes from bribes away,
Or bear your banners through the fight,
Scattering the foeman's firm array.
The lord of boundless revenues,
Salute not him as happy: no,
Call him the happy, who can use
The bounty that the gods bestow,
Can bear the load of poverty,
And tremble not at death, but sin:
No recreant he when called to die
In cause of country or of kin.
Here is a cask of Alban, more
Than nine years old: here grows for you
Green parsley, Phyllis, and good store
Of ivy too
(Wreathed ivy suits your hair, you know):
The plate shines bright: the altar, strew'd
With vervain, hungers for the flow
Of lambkin's blood.
There's stir among the serving folk;
They bustle, bustle, boy and girl;
The flickering flames send up the smoke
In many a curl.
But why, you ask, this special cheer?
We celebrate the feast of Ides,
Which April's month, to Venus dear,
In twain divides.
O, 'tis a day for reverence,
E'en my own birthday scarce so dear,
For my Maecenas counts from thence
Each added year.
'Tis Telephus that you'd bewitch:
But he is of a high degree;
Bound to a lady fair and rich,
He is not free.
O think of Phaethon half burn'd,
And moderate your passion's greed:
Think how Bellerophon was spurn'd
By his wing'd steed.
So learn to look for partners meet,
Shun lofty things, nor raise your aims
Above your fortune. Come then, sweet,
My last of flames
(For never shall another fair
Enslave me), learn a tune, to sing
With that dear voice: to music care
Shall yield its sting.
The gales of Thrace, that hush the unquiet sea,
Spring's comrades, on the bellying canvas blow:
Clogg'd earth and brawling streams alike are free
From winter's weight of snow.
Wailing her Itys in that sad, sad strain,
Builds the poor bird, reproach to after time
Of Cecrops' house, for bloody vengeance ta'en
On foul barbaric crime.
The keepers of fat lambkins chant their loves
To silvan reeds, all in the grassy lea,
And pleasure Him who tends the flocks and groves
Of dark-leaved Arcady.
It is a thirsty season, Virgil mine:
But would you taste the grape's Calenian juice,
Client of noble youths, to earn your wine
Some nard you must produce.
A tiny box of nard shall bring to light
The cask that in Sulpician cellar lies:
O, it can give new hopes, so fresh and bright,
And gladden gloomy eyes.
You take the bait? then come without delay
And bring your ware: be sure, 'tis not my plan
To let you drain my liquor and not pay,
As might some wealthy man.
Come, quit those covetous thoughts, those knitted brows,
Think on the last black embers, while you may,
And be for once unwise. When time allows,
'Tis sweet the fool to play.
The gods have heard, the gods have heard my prayer;
Yes, Lyce! you are growing old, and still
You struggle to look fair;
You drink, and dance, and trill
Your songs to youthful Love, in accents weak
With wine, and age, and passion. Youthful Love!
He dwells in Chia's cheek,
And hears her harp-strings move.
Rude boy, he flies like lightning o'er the heath
Past wither'd trees like you; you're wrinkled now;
The white has left your teeth
And settled on your brow.
Your Coan silks, your jewels bright as stars,
Ah no! they bring not back the days of old,
In public calendars
By flying Time enroll'd.
Where now that beauty? where those movements? where
That colour? what of her, of her is left,
Who, breathing Love's own air,
Me of myself bereft,
Who reign'd in Cinara's stead, a fair, fair face,
Queen of sweet arts? but Fate to Cinara gave
A life of little space;
And now she cheats the grave
Of Lyce, spared to raven's length of days,
That youth may see, with laughter and disgust,
A fire-brand, once ablaze,
Now smouldering in grey dust.
What honours can a grateful Rome,
A grateful senate, Caesar, give
To make thy worth through days to come
Emblazon'd on our records live,
Mightiest of chieftains whomsoe'er
The sun beholds from heaven on high?
They know thee now, thy strength in war,
Those unsubdued Vindelici.
Thine was the sword that Drusus drew,
When on the Breunian hordes he fell,
And storm'd the fierce Genaunian crew
E'en in their Alpine citadel,
And paid them back their debt twice told
'Twas then the elder Nero came
To conflict, and in ruin roll'd
Stout Raetian kernes of giant frame.
O, 'twas a gallant sight to see
The shocks that beat upon the brave
Who chose to perish and be free!
As south winds scourge the rebel wave
When through rent clouds the Pleiads weep,
So keen his force to smite, and smite
The foe, or make his charger leap
Through the red furnace of the fight.
Thus Daunia's ancient river fares,
Proud Aufidus, with bull-like horn,
When swoln with choler he prepares
A deluge for the fields of corn.
So Claudius charged and overthrew
The grim barbarian's mail-clad host,
The foremost and the hindmost slew,
And conquer'd all, and nothing lost.
The force, the forethought, were thine own,
Thine own the gods. The selfsame day
When, port and palace open thrown,
Low at thy footstool Egypt lay,
That selfsame day, three lustres gone,
Another victory to thine hand
Was given; another field was won
By grace of Caesar's high command.
Thee Spanish tribes, unused to yield,
Mede, Indian, Scyth that knows no home,
Acknowledge, sword at once and shield
Of Italy and queenly Rome.
Ister to thee, and Tanais fleet,
And Nile that will not tell his birth,
To thee the monstrous seas that beat
On Britain's coast, the end of earth,
To thee the proud Iberians bow,
And Gauls, that scorn from death to flee;
The fierce Sygambrian bends his brow,
And drops his arms to worship thee.
Of battles fought I fain had told,
And conquer'd towns, when Phoebus smote
His harp-string: “Sooth, 'twere over-bold.
To tempt wide seas in that frail boat.”
Thy age, great Caesar, has restored
To squalid fields the plenteous grain,
Given back to Rome's almighty Lord
Our standards, torn from Parthian fane,
Has closed Quirinian Janus' gate,
Wild passion's erring walk controll'd,
Heal'd the foul plague-spot of the state,
And brought again the life of old,
Life, by whose healthful power increased
The glorious name of Latium spread
To where the sun illumes the east
From where he seeks his western bed.
While Caesar rules, no civil strife
Shall break our rest, nor violence rude,
Nor rage, that whets the slaughtering knife
And plunges wretched towns in feud.
The sons of Danube shall not scorn
The Julian edicts; no, nor they
By Tanais' distant river horn,
Nor Persia, Scythia, or Cathay.
And we on feast and working-tide,
While Bacchus' bounties freely flow,
Our wives and children at our side,
First paying Heaven the prayers we owe,
Shall sing of chiefs whose deeds are done,
As wont our sires, to flute or shell,
And Troy, Anchises, and the son
Of Venus on our tongues shall dwell.

> Latin: nil Claudiae non perficient manus,
quas et benigno numine Iuppiter
defendit et curae sagaces
expediunt per acuta belli”.
Divis orte bonis, optume Romulae
custos gentis, abes iam nimium diu;
maturum reditum pollicitus patrum
sancto concilio redi.
lucem redde tuae, dux bone, patriae:
instar veris enim voltus ubi tuus
adfulsit populo, gratior it dies
et soles melius nitent.
ut mater iuvenem, quem Notus invido
flatu Carpathii trans maris aequora
cunctantem spatio longius annuo
dulci distinet a domo,
votis ominibusque et precibus vocat
curvo nec faciem litore dimovet:
sic desideriis icta fidelibus
quaerit patria Caesarem.
tutus bos etenim rura perambulat,
nutrit rura Ceres almaque Faustitas,
pacatum volitant per mare navitae;
culpari metuit fides,
nullis polluitur casta domus stupris,
mos et lex maculosum edomuit nefas,
laudantur simili prole puerperae,
culpam poena premit comes.
quis Parthum paveat, quis gelidum Scythen,
quis Germania quos horrida parturit
fetus incolumi Caesare? quis ferae
bellum curet Hiberiae?
condit quisque diem collibus in suis
et vitem viduas ducit ad arbores;
hinc ad vina redit laetus et alteris
te mensis adhibet deum;
te multa prece, te prosequitur mero
defuso pateris et Laribus tuum
miscet numen, uti Graecia Castoris
et magni memor Herculis.
“longas o utinam, dux bone, ferias
praestes Hesperiae!” dicimus integro
sicci mane die, dicimus uvidi,
cum sol Oceano subest.
Dive, quem proles Niobea magnae
vindicem linguae Tityosque raptor
sensit et Troiae prope victor altae
Pthius Achilles,
ceteris maior, tibi miles inpar,
filius quamvis Thetidis marinae
Dardanas turris quateret tremenda
cuspide pugnax—
ille, mordaci velut icta ferro
pinus aut inpulsa cupressus Euro,
procidit late posuitque collum in
pulvere Teucro;
ille non inclusus equo Minervae
sacra mentito male feriatos
Troas et laetam Priami choreis
falleret aulam,
sed palam captis gravis, heu nefas, heu,
nescios fari pueros Achivis
ureret flammis, etiam latentem
matris in alvo,
ni tuis victus Venerisque gratae
vocibus divum pater adnuisset
rebus Aeneae potiore ductos
alite muros.
doctor argutae fidicen Thaliae
Phoebe, qui Xantho lavis amne crinis,
Dauniae defende decus Camenae,
levis Agyieu.
spiritum Phoebus, mihi Phoebus artem
carminis nomenque dedit poetae.
virginum primae puerique claris
patribus orti,
Deliae tutela deae, fugacis
lyncas et cervos cohibentis arcu,
Lesbium servate pedem meique
pollicis ictum
rite Latonae puerum canentes,
rite crescentem face Noctilucam,
prosperam frugum celeremque pronos
volvere mensis.
nupta iam dices “ego dis amicum
saeculo festas referente luces
reddidi carmen docilis modorum
vatis Horati.”
Diffugere nives, redeunt iam gramina campis
arboribusque comae;
mutat terra vices et decrescentia ripas
flumina praetereunt;
Gratia cum Nymphis geminisque sororibus audet
ducere nuda choros:
inmortalia ne speres, monet annus et almum
quae rapit hora diem.
frigora mitescunt Zephyris, ver proterit aestas
interitura, simul
pomifer autumnus fruges effuderit, et mox
bruma recurrit iners.
damna tamen celeres reparant caelestia lunae:
nos ubi decidimus
quo pius Aeneas, quo dives Tullus et Ancus,
pulvis et umbra sumus.
quis scit an adiciant hodiernae crastina summae
tempora di superi?
cuncta manus avidas fugient heredis amico
quae dederis animo.
cum semel occideris et de te splendida Minos
fecerit arbitria,
non, Torquate, genus, non te facundia, non te
restituet pietas;
infernis neque enim tenebris Diana pudicum
liberat Hippolytum
nec Lethaea valet Theseus abrumpere caro
vincula Pirithoo.
Donarem pateras grataque commodus,
Censorine, meis aera sodalibus,
donarem tripodas, praemia fortium
Graiorum, neque tu pessuma munerum
ferres, divite me scilicet artium
quas aut Parrhasius protulit aut Scopas,
hic saxo, liquidis ille coloribus
sollers nunc hominem ponere, nunc deum
sed non haec mihi vis, nec tibi talium
res est aut animus deliciarum egens.
gaudes carminibus; carmina possumus
donare et pretium dicere muneri.
non incisa notis marmora publicis,
per quae spiritus et vita redit bonis
post mortem ducibus, non “celeres fugae
reiectaeque retrorsum Hannibalis minae”
non “incendia Karthaginis inpiae”,
eius, “qui domita nomen ab Africa
lucratus rediit”, clarius indicant
laudes quam “Calabrae Pierides” neque,
si chartae sileant quod bene feceris,
mercedem tuleris. quid foret Iliae
Mavortisque puer, si taciturnitas
obstaret meritis invida Romuli?
ereptum Stygiis fluctibus Aeacum
virtus et favor et lingua potentium
vatum divitibus consecrat insulis.
dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori,
caelo Musa beat. sic Iovis interest
optatis epulis inpiger Hercules,
clarum Tyndaridae sidus ab infimis
quassas eripiunt aequoribus ratis,
ornatus viridi tempora pampino
Liber vota bonos ducit ad exitus.
Ne forte credas interitura quae
longe sonantem natus ad Aufidum
non ante volgatas per artis
verba loquor socianda chordis:
non, si priores Maeonius tenet
sedes Homerus, Pindaricae latent
Ceaeque et Alcaei minaces
Stesichorique graves Camenae
nec siquid olim lusit Anacreon
delevit aetas; spirat adhuc amor
vivuntque conmissi calores
Aeoliae fidibus puellae.
non sola comptos arsit adulteri
crinis et aurum vestibus inlitum
mirata regalisque cultus
et comites Helene Lacaena
primusve Teucer tela Cydonio
direxit arcu; non semel Ilios
vexata; non pugnavit ingens
Idomeneus Sthenelusve solus
dicenda Musis proelia; non ferox
Hector vel acer Deiphobus gravis
excepit ictus pro pudicis
coniugibus puerisque primus.
vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
multi; sed omnes inlacrimabiles
urgentur ignotique longa
nocte, carent quia vate sacro.
paullum sepultae distat inertiae
celata virtus. non ego te meis
chartis inornatum silebo,
totve tuos patiar labores
inpune, Lolli, carpere lividas
obliviones. est animus tibi
rerumque prudens et secundis
temporibus dubiisque rectus,
vindex avarae fraudis et abstinens
ducentis ad se cuncta pecuniae,
consulque non unius anni,
sed quotiens bonus atque fidus
iudex honestum praetulit utili,
reiecit alto dona nocentium
voltu, per obstantis catervas
explicuit sua victor arma.
non possidentem multa vocaveris
recte beatum; rectius occupat
nomen beati qui deorum
muneribus sapienter uti
duramque callet pauperiem pati
peiusque leto flagitium timet,
non ille pro caris amicis
aut patria timidus perire.
O crudelis adhuc et Veneris muneribus potens,
insperata tuae cum veniet pluma superbiae
et, quae nunc umeris involitant, deciderint comae,
nunc et qui color est puniceae flore prior rosae
mutatus Ligurinum in faciem verterit hispidam,
dices “heu,” quotiens te speculo videris alterum,
“quae mens est hodie, cur eadem non puero fuit,
vel cur his animis incolumes non redeunt genae?”
Est mihi nonum superantis annum
plenus Albani cadus, est in horto,
Phylli, nectendis apium coronis;
est hederae vis
multa, qua crinis religata fulges,
ridet argento domus, ara castis
vincta verbenis avet immolato
spargier agno;
cuncta festinat manus, huc et illuc
cursitant mixtae pueris puellae,
sordidum flammae trepidant rotantes
vertice fumum.
ut tamen noris, quibus advoceris
gaudiis: Idus tibi sunt agendae,
qui dies mensem Veneris marinae
findit Aprilem,
iure sollemnis mihi sanctiorque
paene natali proprio, quod ex hac
luce Maecenas meus adfluentis
ordinat annos.
Telephum, quem tu petis, occupavit
non tuae sortis iuvenem puella
dives et lasciva tenetque grata
compede vinctum.
terret ambustus Phaethon avaras
spes et exemplum grave praebet ales
Pegasus terrenum equitem gravatus
Bellerophontem,
semper ut te digna sequare et ultra
quam licet sperare nefas putando
disparem vites. age iam, meorum
finis amorum,
(non enim posthac alia calebo
femina) condisce modos, amanda
voce quos reddas: minuentur atrae
carmine curae.
Iam veris comites, quae mare temperant,
inpellunt animae lintea Thraciae,
iam nec prata rigent nec fluvii strepunt
hiberna nive turgidi.
nidum ponit, Ityn flebiliter gemens,
infelix avis et Cecropiae domus
aeternum opprobrium, quod male barbaras
regum est ulta libidines.
dicunt in tenero gramine pinguium
custodes ovium carmina fistula
delectantque deum, cui pecus et nigri
colles Arcadiae placent.
adduxere sitim tempora, Vergili:
sed pressum Calibus ducere Liberum
si gestis, iuvenum nobilium cliens,
nardo vina merebere.
nardi parvus onyx eliciet cadum,
qui nunc Sulpiciis adcubat horreis,
spes donare novas largus amaraque
curarum eluere efficax.
ad quae si properas gaudia, cum tua
velox merce veni: non ego te meis
inmunem meditor tinguere poculis,
plena dives ut in domo.
verum pone moras et studium lucri
nigrorumque memor, dum licet, ignium
misce stultitiam consiliis brevem:
dulce est desipere in loco.
Audivere, Lyce, di mea vota, di
audivere, Lyce: fis anus et tamen
vis formosa videri
ludisque et bibis inpudens
et cantu tremulo pota Cupidinem
lentum sollicitas. ille virentis et
doctae psallere Chiae
pulcris excubat in genis.
inportunus enim transvolat aridas
quercus et refugit te quia luridi
dentes, te quia rugae
turpant et capitis nives.
nec Coae referunt iam tibi purpurae
nec cari lapides tempora, quae semel
notis condita fastis
inclusit volucris dies.
quo fugit venus, heu, quove color, decens
quo motus? quid habes illius, illius,
quae spirabat amores,
quae me surpuerat mihi
felix post Cinaram notaque et artium
gratarum facies? sed Cinarae brevis
annos fata dederunt,
servatura diu parem
cornicis vetulae temporibus Lycen,
possent ut iuvenes visere fervidi
multo non sine risu
dilapsam in cineres facem.
Quae cura patrum quaeve Quiritium
plenis honorum muneribus tuas,
Auguste, virtutes in aevum
per titulos memoresque fastos
aeternet, o, qua sol habitabilis
inlustrat oras, maxime principum,
quem legis expertes Latinae
Vindelici didicere nuper
quid Marte posses. milite nam tuo
Drusus Genaunos, inplacidum genus,
Breunosque velocis et arcis
Alpibus inpositas tremendis
deiecit acer plus vice simplici;
maior Neronum mox grave proelium
conmisit immanisque Raetos
auspiciis pepulit secundis,
spectandus in certamine Martio
devota morti pectora liberae
quantis fatigaret ruinis,
indomitas prope qualis undas
exercet Auster Pleiadum choro
scindente nubis, inpiger hostium
vexare turmas et frementem
mittere equum medios per ignis.
sic tauriformis volvitur Aufidus,
qui regna Dauni praefluit Apuli,
cum saevit horrendamque cultis
diluviem meditatur agris,
ut barbarorum Claudius agmina
ferrata vasto diruit impetu
primosque et extremos metendo
stravit humum sine clade victor,
te copias, te consilium et tuos
praebente divos. nam tibi quo die
portus Alexandrea supplex
et vacuam patefecit aulam,
Fortuna lustro prospera tertio
belli secundos reddidit exitus
laudemque et optatum peractis
imperiis decus adrogavit.
te Cantaber non ante domabilis
Medusque et Indus, te profugus Scythes
miratur, o tutela praesens
Italiae dominaeque Romae.
te fontium qui celat origines
Nilusque et Hister, te rapidus Tigris,
te beluosus qui remotis
obstrepit Oceanus Britannis,
te non paventis funera Galliae
duraeque tellus audit Hiberiae,
te caede gaudentes Sygambri
conpositis venerantur armis.
Phoebus volentem proelia me loqui
victas et urbis increpuit lyra,
ne parva Tyrrhenum per aequor
vela darem. tua, Caesar, aetas
fruges et agris rettulit uberes
et signa nostro restituit Iovi
derepta Parthorum superbis
postibus et vacuum duellis
Ianum Quirini clausit et ordinem
rectum evaganti frena licentiae
iniecit emovitque culpas
et veteres revocavit artis,
per quas Latinum nomen et Italae
crevere vires famaque et imperi
porrecta maiestas ad ortus
solis ab Hesperio cubili.
custode rerum Caesare non furor
civilis aut vis exiget otium,
non ira, quae procudit ensis
et miseras inimicat urbis.
non qui profundum Danuvium bibunt
edicta rumpent Iulia, non Getae,
non Seres infidique Persae,
non Tanain prope flumen orti.
nosque et profestis lucibus et sacris
inter iocosi munera Liberi
cum prole matronisque nostris,
rite deos prius adprecati,
virtute functos more patrum duces
Lydis remixto carmine tibiis
Troiamque et Anchisen et almae
progeniem Veneris canemus.