Introduction.
The Augustan or Golden Age of Latin literature (40 B.C.-14 A.D.) was the period in which Latin poetry attained its highest level of development. Sabidius has already offered substantial translations from the works of two of the three greatest poets of the age: Virgil and Ovid. He now turns to the third of these, Q.Horatius Flaccus (Horace), who lived in the years 65-8 B.C., and was therefore a contemporary of the Emperor Augustus, who indeed befriended him. Although, like Virgil and Ovid, Horace wrote much in hexameters, he is perhaps best remembered for his development of Latin verse along the lines of Greek lyric poetry, in which he employs a variety of metres, including the Alcaic and Sapphic. Between 30 and 23 B.C. he composed the first three books of his "Odes". Reproduced in this article are translations of the thirty odes or 'carmina' from Book III. Firstly are Odes 1-6, all written in the Alcaic metre, and known collectively as the 'Roman' or 'national odes', because they concentrate on Rome and her greatness. Dealing with themes relevant to the contemporary political scene of Augustus' principate, they were composed as a source of inspiration and challenge to the younger generation, that is, those born during the Civil War period (49-31 B.C.). Displaying a high level of sonorous Latin, they include many memorable quotations beloved of succeeding generations of Romans. The remaining twenty-four poems in this book are personal lyrics, dealing with Horace's own life, his friends and his loves. Taken together his "Odes" were, indeed, what Horace calls at the beginning of Ode 30 a "monumentum aere perennius", 'a memorial more lasting than bronze'.
The text for this translation comes from the version of Horace's Odes Book III, edited by T.E. Page, M.A., Litt.D. in the Elementary Classics series, Macmillan, 1882. Attention has also been given to "The Third Book of Horace's Odes", edited by Gordon Williiams, Oxford University Press, 1969, and "Horace: The Odes", edited by Kenneth Quinn, Bristol Classical Press, 1996.
At the end of the translation there is appended a list of famous quotations taken from Book III of the "Odes", in which the wit and wisdom of Horace are aptly exemplified.
Carmen I. On Contentment. (Alcaic metre.) Concerning the illusory nature of power and the superiority of the simple life over the life of luxury.
I abhor the profane throng and I hold (it) aloof ; be well-omened with your lips (i.e. be silent): (as) priest of the Muses, I sing to maidens and to boys prophecies (lit. songs) not heard before. The rule of dread kings is over their own flocks, (and) over the kings themselves (is the rule) of Jupiter, famous for his triumph over the giants, and moving all things with his nod (lit. eye-brow). It happens that one man arranges trees in furrows more widely than another man, this man, a candidate of higher birth, descends to the Field (of Mars), another competes better in character and in reputation, (and) a third has (lit. to a third there is) a greater crowd of clients; by an impartial law Necessity allocates lots to the exalted and to the lowest, (and) a capacious urn shakes every name. For the man, over whose impious neck a drawn sword hangs, the Sicilian banquet will not produce a delicious flavour, and the songs of birds and of lyres will not bring back sleep. Gentle sleep does not despise the humble homes of rustic men nor a shady bank nor a valley fanned by the West Wind. Neither the stormy sea nor the fierce onset of the setting Great Bear or the rising Kids, nor the vineyards lashed by hail and the deceiving orchards, the olive-tree blaming now the rains, now the stars scorching the fields, (and) now the inclement winters, makes anxious (the man) desiring (only) what is sufficient. The fish feel the seas to have been shrunk, masses of stone having been hurled into the deep; hither many a contractor with his slaves and the owner weary of his land send down the rubble: but Fear and Forebodings climb to the same place as the land-owner, and black Care does not depart from the bronze-beaked yacht (lit. trireme), and sits behind the horseman. But, if neither Phrygian marble nor the wearing of purple (robes) more lustrous than the stars, nor Falernian wines and scent from the Persians, (lit. Achaemenians) can soothe a sorrowing man, why should I build a hall with portals arousing envy and in the new lofty style? Why should I exchange my Sabine valley for more troublesome riches?
Carmen II. Against the Degeneracy of the Roman youth. (Alcaic metre.) About true virtue or manliness, and its rewards.
Hardened by keen warfare, let the boy learn thoroughly to endure gladly pinching poverty, and, (as) a horseman, dreadful with his spear, let him harass the wild Parthians, and pass his life beneath the open sky and amid hazardous deeds. Let the wife of a warring ruler and her full-grown daughter, beholding him from the enemy's walls, sigh, alas, lest the royal betrothed, unskilled in combat, provoke a lion dangerous to touch, whom murderous anger drives through the slaughter. It is sweet and becoming to die on behalf of one's country: death also pursues the fleeing man, nor does it spare the knees and cowardly back of the unwarlike youth. Virtue, unaware of disgraceful defeat, gleams with unsullied honours, and does not take up or lay aside the axes at the judgment of a popular breeze. Virtue, opening heaven to those not deserving to die, essays its course through a forbidden path, and spurns the vulgar crowds and damp ground with flying wing. There is also a sure reward for silence: I shall forbid (the man) who has made public the rite of mystic Ceres, to be under the same roof-tree with me or to launch his frail barque with me; often the slighted Jupiter has added the innocent to the guilty. Rarely has Retribution with her halting foot abandoned a wicked man, (though) far in front.
Carmen III. On Steadiness and Integrity. (Alcaic metre.) The road to glory and world-wide empire is open to the Romans, so long as they do not seek to rebuild the city of Troy
Neither the passion of citizens urging wrongful things, nor the expression of a lowering tyrant nor the South Wind, stormy ruler of the restless Adriatic, nor the great hand of thundering Jupiter shakes the man who is just and tenacious of purpose from his rocklike intention: if the shattered heavens should fall in upon (him), the ruins will strike (him) undismayed. By this virtue, Pollux and the wandering Hercules, striving upwards, attained the starry heights (lit. fiery citadels), amongst which the reclining Augustus quaffs nectar through his crimson mouth. Your tigers, father Bacchus, drew you, earning (glory) through this virtue, dragging their yoke by an untamed neck; by this (virtue) Quirinus escaped Acheron, (drawn) by the horses of Mars, Juno having spoken (a word) pleasing to the gods in council : "Ilium, Ilium, a doomed and sinful judge and a foreign woman turned (you) into dust, condemned, for me and the chaste Minerva, (along) with your people and their equivocating king, from the day on which Laomedon, their reward having been fixed, cheated (lit. forsook) the gods. The infamous guest of the Laconian adulteress no longer flaunts (himself), nor does the perjured house of Priam beat back the gallant Achaeans with Hector's help, and the war, prolonged by our discords, has sunk to rest. Forthwith, I shall give back to Mars both my unrelenting grievances and my hated grandson (i.e. Romulus), whom his Trojan priestess bore; him I shall allow to enter our shining regions, to drain sweet nectar, and to be enrolled among the peaceful ranks of the gods. As long as the broad sea rages between Ilium and Rome, let the blessed exiles rule in whatever part of the world they wish; while cattle trample upon the tomb of Priam and of Paris and the wild beasts hide their whelps (there), let the Capitol stand shining, and may warlike Rome be able to impose laws on the defeated Medes. May she extend her dreadful name far and wide to the furthest shores where the intervening sea divides Europe from the African, where the swelling Nile irrigates the fields, more brave in despising gold (left) undiscovered, and so better placed, when earth hides (it), than in amassing (it) with a right (hand) seizing everything sacred for human purposes. Whatever limit has been set to the universe, she will reach this with her arms being eager to see in what quarter fires rage wildly, (and) where (there are) clouds and rainy dews. But I foretell the destiny of the warlike Romans (lit. Quirites) on this condition, that, (being) too dutiful and trusting in their fortunes, they do not wish to rebuild the roofs of ancestral Troy. The fortune of Troy, if it rise again with mournful omens, will be repeated with grievous disaster, myself, the wife and sister of Jupiter, leading the conquering troops. If the bronze wall were to rise again for the third time, with Phoebus (as) the creator, let it perish for the third time, cut down by my Achaeans, (and) let the captured wife mourn her husband and her sons for the third time." This (theme) will not suit my sportive lyre: whither, Muse, are you making your way? Cease, presumptuously, to recount the conversations of the gods and to demean mighty matters with your puny verse.
Carmen IV. To Calliope. (Alcaic metre.) A panegyric on the rule of Caesar Augustus, followed by a dramatic account of how evil is defeated.
Come down from heaven, queen Calliope (i.e. the Muse of Epic Poetry), and, come, play (lit. utter) upon your pipe a lengthy tune, or, if you now prefer, (sing) with a clear voice, or to the strings and lyre of Phoebus. Do you (all) hear, or does (some) fond illusion mock me? I seem to hear (you) and to wander through pleasant groves, which waters and breezes softly enter too. The fabled doves covered me (as) a boy, worn out with play and (weighed down) with sleep, with fresh foliage in Apulian Voltur beyond the border of my native (lit. nurse) Apulia, so that it was a marvel to all, whoever inhabit the nest of lofty Acherontia and the glades of Bantia and the fertile fields of low-lying Forentum, how I slept, my body safe from venomous snakes and bears, how I was tucked up both in sacred laurel and in gathered up myrtle, an inspired child, not without heaven's favour (lit. the gods). (I am) yours, Muses (lit. Camenae), (I am) yours, (if) I climb the Sabine hills, or if cool Praeneste, or the sloping Tibur, or the bright air of Baiae have pleased me. (Being) a friend to your fountains and dances, neither a battle-line routed (lit. turned back) at Philippi nor the accursed tree nor (Cape) Palinurus in Sicilian waters has snuffed me out. Whenever you are (lit. will be) with me, I shall gladly explore the raging Bosporus as a mariner, and the burning sands of the Assyrian gulf as a wayfarer; I shall visit the Britons, savage towards strangers, and the Concani, delighting in horses' blood, and I shall visit the Geloni, armed with quivers, and the Scythian river, unscathed. You, in a Pierian cave, give repose to exalted Caesar, seeking to end his labours as soon as he has disposed among towns his cohorts, weary of military service. You both proffer gentle counsel, and, (this) having been given, (being) kindly, you rejoice. We know how (he) who governs the inert earth, (he) who (governs) the windy sea and rules alone with impartial power the cities (of the living) and the gloomy realms and the immortals and the crowds of mortals, destroyed the unholy Titans and the monstrous troop with his crashing thunderbolt. That confident band of young men, bristling with (upraised) arms, and those brothers (i.e. Otus and Ephialtes), striving to have piled Pelion upon shady Olympus, caused Jupiter great fear. But what could Typhoeus and mighty Mimas, or what could Porphyrion with threatening mien, what could Rhoetus and the daring hurler Enceladus, the trees having been torn up by their roots, avail, rushing against the sounding shield of Pallas? Hence stood eager Vulcan, hence the lady Juno, and, never destined to lay aside the bow from his shoulders, (he) who washes his flowing hair in the pure Castalian spring, who inhabits the thickets of Lycia and his native wood, Delian and Patarean Apollo. Force, devoid of judgment, falls under its own weight: self-controlled force the gods even project to greater (heights): they (lit. the same) hate strength, contemplating in its mind every evil. The hundred-handed Gyas (is) a witness of my opinions, and also Orion, notorious (as) the assailant of spotless Diana, (and) subdued by her chaste arrow. Piled upon her own monsters, (Mother) Earth grieves and mourns for her offspring, hurled (down) to pale Orcus by the thunderbolt; nor has the swift fire eaten through Etna which has been piled (lit. having been piled ) upon (it), nor has the vulture, the guardian assigned to his wickedness, left the liver of intemperate Tityus; hundreds of (lit. three hundred) chains hold down the lecher Pirithous.
Carmen V. On the recovery of the standards from Phraates. (Alcaic metre.) A reminder of the need to avenge the defeat by the Parthians in the context of the stern example set by Regulus.
We have (always) believed that thundering Jupiter rules in heaven; present (here on earth), Augustus will be considered a god, the Britons and the dread Persians having been added to the empire. Did a soldier of Crassus live (as) a disgraceful husband, his wife a barbarian, and - (O shame) for our senate and character overturned! - grow old amongst the weapons of their fathers-in-law, a Marsian and an Apulian under a king of the Medes, forgetful of the sacred shields and the name (of Rome) and the toga and the undying fire of Vesta, (the temple of) Jupiter and the city of Rome (being) unharmed? This the far-seeing mind of Regulus had guarded against, opposing the shameful peace conditions and making ruin extend into the coming age from the precedent, if the captive youth were not to perish unpitied. "(With my own eyes) I have beheld our standards nailed to Punic shrines and weapons torn from soldiers without bloodshed," he said; "(With my own eyes) I have beheld the arms of citizens bound behind a free back, and city-gates not closed and fields, having been ravaged by our army (lit. Mars), being tilled. Ransomed by gold, the soldier will, doubtless, return more eager ( for the fray). You are adding financial loss to disgrace: wool dressed in dye does not regain its lost colours, nor does true courage, when once it has fallen away, care to be restored to the degraded. If a deer, freed from thick nets, (ever) fights, (then indeed) will that man be brave, who has entrusted himself to faithless foes, and will he trample upon the Carthaginians in a second war, who, with his arms bound (behind his back), has spiritlessly felt the straps and feared death. He, unaware how (lit. from where) to win his life, has confounded peace with war. O shame! O great Carthage, (towering) higher on the disgraceful ruins of Italy! It is recounted that, as one deprived of his status as a citizen, he banished from himself the kiss of his chaste wife and his little sons, and grimly cast his manly gaze upon the ground, until his authority fortified the wavering senators with counsel never having been given before, and amid his sorrowing friends he hastens away, a glorious exile. And yet he knew what the barbarian torturer had in store for him; yet he made the kinsmen blocking his path and the people delaying his return stand aside, just as (lit. not otherwise than) if he were leaving the tedious business of his clients, their law-suits having been decided, (and) making his way towards the fields of Venafrum or Lacedaemonian Tarentum.
Carmen VI. To the Romans. (Alcaic metre.) Our age is one of moral decline, for which a price will be exacted unless the conditions of the past are restored.
(Though) guiltless, you will atone for the crimes of your ancestors, (O) Roman, until you will have restored our temples and mouldering shrines and the statues of the gods foul with black smoke. You rule because you carry yourself (as) inferior to the gods: from them (ascribe) all your beginning, to them ascribe your ending. Having been neglected, the gods have given many evils to the sorrowful lands of the West (i.e. Italy). Twice already Monaeses and the band of Pacorus have crushed our inauspicious attacks, and they beam again with joy to add booty (from us) to their necklaces. The Dacian and the Ethiopian almost destroyed our city, preoccupied with its civil wars, the latter formidable for its fleet, the former more skilful (lit. better) with winged arrows. Generations, prolific in guilt, first defiled wedlock and the family and home; derived from this source, disaster flowed upon our country and people. The grown maiden rejoices to be taught Ionian dances and is instructed in accomplishments; even now too she dreams of impure loves from the bottom of her heart (lit. from the quick of the nail). Soon, she seeks younger paramours amid the parties (lit. wine-cups) of her husband, nor does she choose to whom she may give illicit joys hurriedly with half-lit lamps; for, having been propositioned openly, not without her husband knowing, she rises, whether a pedlar calls or the master of a Spanish ship, the high-bidding purchaser of shame. Not from such (lit. these) parents sprang the youth (who) dyed the sea with Punic blood, and struck down Pyrrhus, and great Antiochus and dread Hannibal; but the manly offspring of rustic soldiers, brought up to turn clods of earth with Sabellian hoes and to bear faggots hewn at the bidding of a stern mother, whenever the sun should alter the shadows of the mountains, and remove the yokes from the tired oxen, spending a pleasant hour (lit. time) in his departing chariot. What has destructive time not corrupted? The age of our fathers, worse than (that of) our grandfathers, bore us, more wicked (still), soon about to beget progeny (even) more degenerate.
Carmen VII. To Asterie. (Fourth Asclepiad metre). This ode focusses on the predicament of two lovers separated temporarily by winter storms. While Horace comforts the lady by emphasising her man's fidelity, he warns her not to stray herself.
Why, Asterie, do you weep for Gyges, a young man of steadfast fidelity, whom the cloudless West Winds will restore to you at the beginning of spring, enriched with a Bithynian cargo? He, driven to Oricum by the South Winds, after (the rising of) the Goat's wild constellation spends chill nights sleepless, not without many tears. And yet, a messenger from his love-sick hostess, telling (him) that Chloe sighs, and, poor woman, is consumed by the same flames as you (lit. by your flames). He recalls how, by false accusations, a treacherous woman drove the credulous Proetus to hasten the death of the too chaste Bellerophon. He tells of Peleus, almost given (up) to Tartarus, while, in his abstinence, he shunned Magnesian Hippolyte; and cunningly he brings forward stories teaching sin. In vain: for, deafer than the rocks of Icarus, he hears the voices still untouched. - But, as for you, beware lest your neighbour Enipeus pleases (you) more than is right; although no other is seen on the field of Mars equally skilful to guide a horse, nor does anyone swim with equal swiftness down the Tuscan stream. At the beginning of the night, shut your house, and do not look down into the streets at the sound of the plaintive pipe, and stay stubborn towards (him, despite him) often calling you hard-hearted.
Carmen VIII. To Maecenas. (Sapphic metre.) In this ode Horace has invited his patron to celebrate with him the poet's miraculous escape from being killed by a falling tree. He encourages Maecenas to forget for a while his heavy responsibilities, and enter into the spirit of the occasion.
Do you, learned in the lore of either language, wonder what I, a bachelor, am doing on the Kalends of March, what these flowers mean, and the casket of incense, and the coal placed on the freshly-cut (lit. live) turf? I had vowed a dainty feast and a white goat to Liber, having almost been killed (lit. made ready for burial) by the fall of a tree. This day, a holiday (for me) on each anniversary (lit. with the returning year), shall remove the cork, fastened with pitch, from that jar, having been taught to drink in the smoke, with Tullus (being) consul (i.e. 66 B.C.) Take, Maecenas, a hundred ladles in honour of your friend (being) safe, and endure the wakeful lanterns to the daylight: let all shouting and anger be far off. Set aside a statesman's anxieties about the city: the band of Dacian Cotiso has been defeated (lit. has fallen), the hostile Mede is quarrelling with himself in calamitous warfare (i.e. civil strife), (and) the Cantabrian, our old foe on the Spanish coast, is our slave, tamed by late chains. Be careless (lit. negligent), (as) a private citizen forbear to be too much concerned lest anywhere the people suffer harm, joyfully seize the the gifts of the present hour, and put aside serious (matters).
Carmen IX. To Lydia. (Second Asclepiad metre). This touching, if ironical, ode is the only example of an 'amoebean' song (i.e poetry in dialogue) in Horace's works. Its theme is the supposed reconciliation of two former lovers. Inevitably there has long been speculation that the man involved may be Horace himself.
He: As long as I was agreeable to you, nor did any more favoured youth put his ams around (lit. give his arms to) your snowy-white neck, I flourished more happily than the king of the Persians.
She: As long as you did not burn more (with love) for another (woman), nor was Lydia behind (lit. after) Chloe (in your affections), I, Lydia, of a much (spoken) name, flourished more famously than the Roman Ilia.
He: The Thracian Chloe now rules me, (she who is) expert in sweet modulations and skilled on the lyre, for whom I shall not fear to die, if the fates shall spare my darling (lit. soul) to survive (me).
She: Calais, the son of Ornytus of Thurii, inflames me with a mutual torch, for whom I shall twice endure to die, if the fates shall spare my boy to survive (me).
He: What if our former love returns, and joins (us), having been led asunder, by a brazen yoke, (what) if blonde(-haired) Chloe is cast off, and the door opens to slighted Lydia?
She: Although he is fairer than a star, (and) you are more fickle (lit. lighter) than cork, and more irascible than the stormy Adriatic, with you I should love to live, with you I should gladly die.
Carmen X. To Lyce. (Third Asclepiad meter.) A variation on the theme of the 'paraclausithyron' (a serenade by an excluded lover before his mistress's steet door). The wit lies in the subversion of normal moral standards, since the woman's refusal to be unfaithful to he husband is portrayed as unreasonable cruelty.
(O) Lyce, if you were to inhabit (lit. drink of) the remote Tanais, married to a savage husband, yet you would grieve to expose me, stretched out before your cruel doors to the native North Winds. Do you hear with what a noise your door, with what (a noise) that grove, planted between your elegant buildings, moans (lit. bellows) in the winds, how Jupiter freezes the settled snow with his cloudless divinity? Lay aside your pride, hateful to Venus, lest your rope should go backwards with the revolving wheel. Your Etruscan father did not beget you (as) an unyielding Penelope to your suitors. O though neither presents, nor prayers, nor your lovers' pallor tinctured with violet, nor your husband smitten with a Pierian enchantress, bends you (to pity), (yet) spare your suppliants, (you who are) neither softer than a sturdy oak nor gentler in disposition than Mauretanian snakes. This side of mine will not always be able to endure your doorstep or the rains from heaven.
Carmen XI. To Mercury. (Sapphic metre.) An ironic hymn extolling the nobility of marriage for a reluctant young bride; the self-sacrifice of Hypermnestra, the daughter of Danaus, is recounted in particular.
(O) Mercury, for Amphion, easily taught, you (being) the teacher, moved stones by his singing, - and you tortoise-shell, skilfully taught to resonate to seven strings, once not vocal nor welcome, now beloved at both the tables of the rich and in the temples, utter musical strains to which Lyde may lend her stubborn ears. She sports with leaps and bounds like a three-year old filly in the broad fields, and fears to be touched, ignorant of marriage and still unripe for an eager husband. You can lead tigers and woods (as) your companions, and stay the swift-flowing rivers; to you being enticing, Cerberus, the door-keeper of the awful hall gave way, although a hundred snakes may fortify his dreadful head, and foul breath and gore remains in his three-tongued mouth. Nay even Ixion and Tityos smiled against their will (lit. with an unwilling face) (and) the pitcher stood dry for a moment, while you soothed the daughters of Danaus with a delightful song. Let Lyde hear of the crime and the notorious punishments of these maidens, and the jar (ever) empty of water running to waste through the lowest part of its bottom, and the fate, (though) late, which awaits offences even under Orcus. Impious women! - for what worse (lit. more) could they (have done)? - impious women! for they had the heart to slay their husbands with unrelenting (lit. hard) steel! One (i.e. Hypermnestra), (only) among many worthy of the nuptial torch, was gloriously false to her perjured father and a maiden renowned for all time. "Arise," she said to her young husband (i.e. Lynceus), "Arise, lest a lasting sleep may be given to you, from (a source) which you do not fear; deceive your father-in law and your wicked sisters, who, like lionesses that, having pounced upon young steers, alas, are tearing each one to pieces: I (am) softer than them, nor shall I strike you nor keep you among bolts. Let my father load me with cruel fetters, because, (being) mercful, I spared my wretched husband; let him banish me even to the furthest lands of the Numidians. Go whither your feet and the breezes hurry you, while night and Venus are propitious, go with a favourable omen, and on my tomb engrave a lament mindful of me."
Carmen XII. To Neobule. (Ionicus a minore metre). A soliloquy or monologue in which a love-sick young maiden laments the obstacles which society puts in her path.
It is (the fate) of poor girls neither to give (free) play to love, nor to wash away sorrows with sweet wine or (else) to faint (lit. to be made breathless), fearing the lashes of an uncle's tongue. From you the winged son of Cythera (i.e. Cupid) (steals) your wicker basket, from you the radiant beauty of Liparean Hebrus steals your loom (and) the pursuits of industrious Minerva, (O) Neobule, as soon as he has bathed his oiled shoulders in the waters of the Tiber, a better horseman than Bellerophon himself, vanquished neither through a slow fist nor a (slow) foot: likewise, (he is) skilled to spear stags, fleeing in their frightened herds over the open (country), and swift to receive the wild boar lurking in the deep thicket.
Carmen XIII. To the Bandusian Fountain. (Fourth Asclepiad Metre.) Based on the form of Greek epigram, this hymn of dedication to a beautiful spring reproduces the unwinding of the poet's thoughts as he contemplates the scene before him.
O spring of Bandusia, more brilliant than glass, worthy of sweet wine, not without flowers, tomorrow you will be presented with a kid, whose forehead swollen with the tips of horns marks him out for both love and battles; in vain: for this offspring of the playful flock will stain your cold streams with his red blood. You the cruel hour of the blazing Dogstar does not know how to touch; you provide welcome coolness for oxen wearied by the plough and for the straggling herd. You, too, will become one of the famous fountains, with me singing the praises of (lit. telling of) the holm-oak placed over the hollowed out rocks, whence your babbling waters tumble down.
Carmen XIV. To the Romans. (Sapphic metre.) An ode which expresses the joy and relief of both poet and public alike at Augustus' safe return to Rome in 24 B.C. after three years of active service in Spain, during which he had fallen seriously ill. The tone of the poem changes from its formal opening to the frivolity associated with Horace's party themes.
Caesar (i.e. Augustus), O people, recently said, after the manner of Hercules, to have sought the laurel (only) to be bought by death, revisits his household gods, a victor from the shore of Spain. Let his wife, rejoicing in her husband alone, come forth, having performed sacrifices to the just (gods), (and) also the sister of our renowned general, and the mothers of maidens and of young men recently made safe. O you boys and girls having already experienced a husband, refrain from ill-omened words. This day, truly a holiday for me, shall banish gloomy cares; with Caesar possessing the earth, I shall dread neither an uprising nor death through violence. Go, slave, (and) seek perfume and garlands and a cask that remembers (lit. remembering) the Marsian war (i.e. 90 B.C.), if any jar could have eluded the marauding Spartacus (i.e. 73-71 B.C.). Also, tell clear-voiced Neaera to make haste to bind her perfumed hair in a knot; (but) if a delay occurs through her hateful janitor, come away. Whitening hair cools my spirit, (once) eager for quarrels and wanton wrangling; I should not have borne this (treatment), (when) warm with youth, with Plancus (being) consul (i.e. 42 B.C.).
Carmen XV. To Chloris. (Second Asclepiad metre.) Ironic advice to an ageing flirt.
Wife of humble Ibycus, at last set a limit to your profligacy and your notorious efforts: (being) nearer to a timely (lit. ripe) death, cease to sport among maidens, and to cast a cloud over such bright stars. If something is right enough for Pholoe, (it is) not (right) for you also, Chloris: your daughter, with more propriety, takes young men's homes by storm, like a Bacchante aroused by the beating timbrel. Love of Nothus makes her frisk about like a wanton she-goat: wool shorn from the famous Luceria becomes you, not lyres, or the purple flower of the rose, or jars drained right down to the dregs, (you) old hag!
Carmen XVI. To Maecenas. (Third Asclepiad metre.) The theme of this ode is the praise of contentment. While gold is all-powerful, wealth brings anxieties in its train. Be satisfied with what is enough.
A brazen tower and doors of oak and the grim watches of wakeful dogs had sufficiently guarded imprisoned Danae from nocturnal seducers, if Jupiter and Venus had not laughed at Acrisius, the anxious custodian of the hidden maiden: for (they knew) that the way would be safe and open, the god having been turned into a bribe. Gold loves to go through the midst of guards and to break through stone (walls) more powerfully than a bolt of lightning: the house of the Achaean prophet (i.e. Amphiaraus) fell, sunk in destruction on account of lucre; the man of Macedon (i.e. Philip II) split open the gates of cities and subverted rival kings with bribes; bribes ensnare the stern captains of ships. anxiety and a hunger for greater (possessions) is the consequence of growing wealth: rightly, Maecenas, (you) glory of the knights, I have shrunk from raising my head (so as to be) widely visible. As much more as any man shall deny himself, (so much) more will he receive from the gods: naked (as I am), I seek the camps of (those) coveting nothing, and (like) a deserter I am eager to quit the ranks of the wealthy, more splendid (as) the master of a despised estate than if I were reputed to hide away in my barns whatever the industrious Apulian cultivates, (myself being) a pauper amidst great wealth. A stream of clear water and a wood of a few acres, and a sure prospect of my harvest escapes the notice of (the man) glittering in the rule of fertile Africa, (these things) being happier in their lot. Although neither do the Calabrian bees produce honey, nor does wine mellow for me in a Formian jar, nor do rich fleeces grow in Gallic pastures, yet pinching poverty is absent, nor, if I wanted more, would you refuse to give (it to me). I shall better extend my small revenues by reduced desire, than if I were to join the kingdom of Alyattes (i.e. the father of Croesus) to the plains of Mygdon. Much is wanting to those seeking much; it is well (with him) to whom god has bestowed, with a sparing hand, what is enough.
Carmen XVII. To Aelius Lamia. (Alcaic metre.) Horace makes gentle fun of the desire of Roman aristocrats to claim descent from mythological figures.
(O) Aelius, nobly (descended) from ancient Lamus, - since they say that both the earlier Lamiae and the whole line of descendants throughout the historical records derived their names from him; you derive your origin from that founder, who is said to have first possessed the walls of Formiae and the Liris flowing over the shores of Marica, a widely ruling (king): - tomorrow a tempest sent from the East will cover the grove with many leaves, and the shore with useless sea-weed, unless the old crow, that prophet of rain, deceives (me). Pile up the dry wood, while (it is) possible: tomorrow you will refresh your soul with wine and a two-month old pig, with your household-slaves having been released from their duties.
Carmen XVIII. To Faunus. (Sapphic metre.) In this charming portrayal of a village on holiday in honour of Faunus, Horace's affects sympathy with the rustic faith of his neighbours.
(O) Faunus, (you) lover of the flying Nymphs, may you walk gently through my borders and my sunny countryside, (and) may you depart with good will (lit. propitious) to the little nurslings (of my flock), if a tender kid falls (in sacrifice to you) at the completion of the year (lit. the year [being] full), nor are plenty of wines wanting to the mixing-bowl, (and) the ancient altar smokes with much incense. All the cattle sport in the grassy plain, when the Nones of December return in your honour: the village on holiday takes its ease in the meadows, with the oxen free from their toil; the wolf wanders among the fearless lambs; the wood scatters its rustic leaves in your honour; the ditch-digger rejoices to have pounded the hateful earth three times with his foot.
Carmen XIX. To Telephus. (Second Asclepiad metre.) This ode is constructed around the standard lyric theme of an imaginary drinking party held in order to celebrate Murena's appointment as an augur. In this dramatic monologue Horace intervenes to restore order when one of the company, possibly Telephus himself, is boring the others with his antiquarian obsession.
How long a period separates Codrus, not afraid to die for his country, from Inachus and the race of Aeacus and the wars fought below sacred Troy, (these things) you talk of: (but) at what price we may purchase a cask of Chian (wine), who will heat the water with fire, with whom providing the house, and at what (hour) I am to be free from these Paelignian (colds (i.e. when will the party start?), (about all of these) you are silent. Give (me) quickly (a goblet of wine), boy, in honour of the new moon, give (me one) in honour of mid-night, give (me one) in honour of Murena the augur: let the goblets be mixed appropriately (i.e. at your choice) with three or nine ladles. A frenzied bard, who loves the odd-numbered Muses, shall ask for thrice three ladles, a Grace, joined to her naked sisters, fearful of quarrelling, prohibits (a man) to touch upward of three. It is my pleasure to rave: why do the blasts of the Berecynthian (i.e. Phrygian) flute cease? Why is the pipe hanging with the silent lyre? I hate niggardly handfuls: scatter roses (around); let the envious Lycus, and the (lady) next-door not well-matched with old Lycus, hear (us). The seasonable Rhode is aiming at you, Telephus, sleek with your bushy locks, (at) you like the clear Evening Star: a long-felt (lit. slow) passion for my Glycera is consuming me.
Carmen XX. To Pyrrhus. (Sapphic metre.) In this ode the theme is a contest between a man and a woman for the love of a young boy, who, it seems, is indifferent to the outcome.
Do you not see with what peril you meddle with the cubs of a Gaetulian (i.e. North African) lioness? After a little (while) you, a spineless predator, will flee the contest, when she shall march through the bands of youths barring her path, reclaiming her beautiful Nearchus, a grand contest, (to settle whether) the greater (part of) the booty shall fall to you or to her. In the meantime, while you bring forth swift arrows, she whets those deadful teeth of hers, (and) the umpire of the battle, is reported to have placed the palm under his naked foot, and to be fanning his shoulder, covered with scented hair, with the gentle breeze, such a one was either Nireus or (he who was) carried off from watery Ida (i.e. Ganymede).
Carmen XXI. To a jar. (Alcaic metre.) This poem is dedicated to the 'testa' (wine-jar or pitcher), in which is stored the special wine to be served to M. Messalla Corvinus.
O dutiful jar, born with me, Manlius (being) consul (i.e. 65 B.C.), whether you bring jokes or laments, or conflicts and crazy loves, or effortless slumber, for whatever reason (lit. on whatever account) you preserve the choice Massic (vintage), worthy to be served on an auspicious (lit. good) day, descend (to earth), Corvinus ordering (me) to bring forth mellower wine. Although steeped in Socratic dialogues, he will not slight you in an unkempt manner: even the virtue of ancient Cato is said to have been warm with undiluted wine. You gently apply the rack to a usually unyielding spirit; you disclose the cares and secret design of philosophers through merry Lyaeus (i.e. Bacchus); you bring back hope to anxious minds and you give strength and horns to the poor man, who, after you, trembles (lit. the poor man trembling) neither at the angry diadems of kings nor at the weapons of soldiers. Liber and, if she will kindly be present, Venus, and the Graces, lothe to undo the knot (that binds their dress), and still burning (lit. living) lanterns shall lead you on, until Phoebus, returning, chases the stars away.
Carmen XXII. To Diana. (Sapphic metre.) A dedicatory hymn to Diana, which brings out two of her functions: as goddess of hunting and the countryside, and the other as goddess of childbirth, a function which is derived from her association with the Greek divinity, Artemis.
(O) Virgin, guardian of the mountains and groves, three-formed goddess, who, thrice summoned, hearkens to young women labouring in child-birth (lit. in the womb) and saves (them) from death, let the pine overlooking my villa, be yours, which, at the completion of each year, I shall joyfully present with the blood of a boar, practising its sidelong blow.
Carmen XXIII. To Phidyle. (Alcaic metre.) Instructions given to a thrifty housewife about honouring the household gods. The interest of this theme to the poet lies in the evocation of a simple rustic piety, with its sense of the unchanging values of rural life and its natural relationship with the unseen powers.
If, rustic Phidyle, you will have raised toward heaven upturned hands, the (new) moon being born, if you will have appeased the Lares (i.e. the spirits of the hearth) with this year's corn and a greedy pig, your fruitful vine will not feel to its cost the deadly African wind (i.e. the Sirocco), nor your crops the blighting mildew, nor your sweet nurslings the sickly time of year in the apple-bearing season (i.e. the autumn). For the doomed victim which grazes on snow-topped Algidus among oaks and holm-oaks, or grows on Alban grasses, will stain the axes of the priests (with blood) from its neck: you have no need (lit. it does not concern you at all) to besiege (the gods) with two-year old sheep, (you) who crowns your statues of the gods (lit. tiny gods) with rosemary and fragile myrtle. If, giftless, your hand has touched the (household) altar, not (made) more persuasive by a costly victim, it has appeased the angry Penates (i.e. the spirits of the store-room) with dutiful meal and crackling salt.
Carmen XXIV. To the covetous. (Second Asclepiad metre.) A further attack on the pursuit of luxury, and the decline of moral standards which accompanies it.
More wealthy than the unrifled treasuries of Arabia and rich India, it is permitted (to you), with your building materials, to seize on the whole of the public land and sea, (and yet), if dread Necessity fixes her adamantine nails into the topmost roofs, (then) you shall neither free your soul from fear, nor your life from the snares of death. The Scythians of the steppes, whose wagons draw their wandering homes in accordance with their custom, and (so do) the stern Getae, whose unmeasured acres produce free fruits and corn (lit. Ceres), nor is tillage longer than annual agreeable, and a substitute relieves his labours by an equal allotment. There, the guiltless wife spares her step-children lacking a mother, and no dowried spouse rules her husband, nor puts her trust in a sleek adulterer. The great dowry of parents is virtue, and chastity shrinking from another man, the (marriage) compact (being) sure; also (it is) forbidden to sin, or, (if she does,) the reward is death. O whoever shall wish to do away with our impious slaughters and civic frenzy, if he seeks (the words) FATHER OF CITIES to be inscribed on his statues, let him venture to check uncontrollable licentiousness, (and be) renowned to posterity: seeing that - alas, (it is) wrong! - we detest virtue (while) living (lit. unharmed), (but) we seek (it), enviously, (once it has been) removed from our gaze (lit. eyes). What (do) our woeful complaints (avail), if sin is not cut back by punishment, what do our empty laws avail without morals, if neither that part of the world shut in by fervent heats, nor the side bordering upon the North Wind (i.e. the Arctic), and the snows hardened on the ground, drive away the merchant, (and) expert sailors overcome the rough waters, (and) poverty, a great reproach, orders (us) both to do and to suffer anything, and deserts the path of arduous virtue? If we really regret our crimes, let us despatch our gems and precious stones, and our useless gold, the cause of extreme evil, to the Capitol, where shouting and the crowd of our supporters calls us, or into the nearby sea. The roots of depraved desire must (lit. are needing to) be eradicated, and our minds, (which are) too soft must (lit. are needing to) be moulded by severer pursuits. With his inexperience, the noble youth does not know how to stay on his horse, and fears to go hunting, (being) more skilled at playing, if you bid (him), with the Greek hoop, or, if you prefer, with the dice, forbidden by the laws, while his father's perjured faith cheats his business partner and guest, and hastens (to make) money for a worthless heir. Doubtless, wealth grows insatiably; yet, something (lit. I know not what) is ever missing to the incomplete (lit. deficient) fortune.
Carmen XXV. To Bacchus. (Second Asclepiad metre.) In this ode Horace announces his intention to celebrate the apotheosis of Augustus, and once again he emphasises his use of novel poetic forms. Dionysus, the Greek equivalent of Bacchus, was also the god of the 'dithyramb', an inpassioned form of choral ode, associated with Archilochus, in which the poet seeks inspiration through drunken frenzy. Here Horace seeks to imitate this tradition, albeit with some degree of irony.
Whither, Bacchus, are you rushing me away, full of you? (Into) what groves or into what recesses am I being hurriedly driven with a fresh inspiration? In what caves shall I, reflecting upon the eternal glory of illustrious Caesar, (i.e. Augustus) be heard, enrolling (him) among the stars and the council of Jupiter? I shall utter (something) sublime, new, as yet unspoken by another mouth. Not otherwise, on the mountain ridges, is the sleepless Bacchante astonished, looking upon Hebrus and Thrace glistening with snow, and Rhodope traversed by barbarous feet, than it is pleasing to me, off the beaten track, to wonder at the (river) banks and the deserted grove. O lord of the Naiads and the Bacchanalian (women), able to uproot the lofty ash-tree with their hands, I shall sing nothing small or in humble style, nothing mortal. It is a sweet hazard, O Lenaeus (i.e. the god of the wine-press), to follow the god who binds (lit. binding) his temples with green vine-leaves.
Carmen XXVI. To Venus. (Alcaic metre.) In this wryly worded announcement by the poet of his retirement from his career as a lover, Horace proposes to dedicate his serenading 'weapons' to his patroness Venus. However, when we reach the end of the poem, we find that it is not retirement that Horace seeks but greater success.
I have lived, (until) lately, (as) a suitable (person) for girls, and I have campaigned not without glory; (but) now this wall, which guards the left side of (the statue of) sea-born Venus, shall keep my weapons and my lyre, discharged from warfare. Here, here deposit the gleaming torches, and the crowbars, and the bows threatening the opposing doors. (O) goddess, who inhabits blessed Cyprus and Memphis, free from Sithonian snow, (O) queen, touch the arrogant Chloe (just) once with your uplifted lash.
Carmen XXVII. To Galatea, upon her going to sea. (Sapphic metre.) A 'propemptikon' or 'bon voyage' poem, written as an accompaniment for a friend, who is about to embark on a journey, becomes a pretext for the recounting of the myth of Europa.
May the omen of a hooting owl and a pregnant bitch or a grey she-wolf running down from the fields of Lanuvium and a vixen with her young conduct the impious (on their way). And may a snake break their journey when it has been started (lit. having been started), if, (darting) like an arrow across the road, it has scared the horses: (for the person) for whom I shall feel concern, I, (as) a far-seeing diviner shall call up by prayer from the rising of the sun an inspired raven, before that bird, prophetic of impending storms, seeks again its stagnant pools. As far as I am concerned, may you (lit. it is permitted by me that you may) be happy, and, mindful of me, O Galatea, may you live wherever you prefer, and may neither an ill-omened (lit. sinister) woodpecker nor a wandering crow forbid you to go out. But you see with what great uproar Orion hastens to his setting. I know what the dark gulf of the Adriatic is, and how the cloudless Iapyx sins. Let the wives and the sons of the enemy feel to their cost the sudden (lit. blind) commotions of the rising South Wind, and the roar of the black sea and the sea-shores trembling with the lash. So too Europa entrusted her snow-white body (lit. flank) to the treacherous bull, and, (though) daring, grew pale at the sea teeming with monsters and in the midst of dangers. Earlier in the meadows, busied with flowers and (as) the weaver of a garland vowed to the Nymphs, in the dimly lit night she saw nothing except the stars and the waves. As soon as she reached Crete, powerful with its hundred towns, she said: "Father, O name of daughter abandoned and duty overcome by passion! Whence (and) whither have I come? A single death is a light (punishment) for the guilt of virgins. Do I, being awake, bewail a crime I have committed (lit. having been committed), or does a vision mock (me) free from sins, a false (vision), which, flying from the ivory gate, brings (only) a dream? Was it better to go through the long waves or to pick fresh flowers? If anyone should now give up that infamous steer to me, angry (as I am), I should try hard to gash (it) with a sword and to smash the horns of that monster, much loved lately (by me). Shamelessly I abandoned my ancestral Penates (i.e. household gods), shamelessly I am keeping Orcus (i.e. the Underworld) waiting. If anyone of (all) the gods hears these things, would that I should wander naked among lions! Before hideous decay may prey on these comely cheeks, and the juice may flow out from the tender victim, beautiful (as I am), I long to feed the tigers. Worthless Europa, your distant father assails (you thus): why are you hesitating to die? You can break your neck, hanging from that ash-tree with the girdle that has fortunately followed (lit. having... followed) you. Or, if precipices and rocks sharp for death delight you, come, entrust yourself to the rushing wind, unless you, the offspring of a king, prefer to pluck at a slave's task, a strumpet, to be handed over to a foreign mistress." (At her side thus) wailing, was Venus, smiling in mockery, and her son, with his bow unstrung. Then, when she had amused (herself) sufficiently, she said: "Refrain from your tantrums and heated recrimination, when the hateful bull shall bring you back, his horns to be torn. You do not know how to be the consort of unconquered Jupiter: stop (lit. send away) your sobs, learn to bear your great (good) fortune well; half of the world will take your name."
Carmen XXVIII. To Lyde. (Second Asclepiad metre.) The poet prepares to celebrate the festival of Neptune with his mistress.
What can I do better on the feast day of Neptune? Bring forth briskly, Lyde, the hoarded Caecuban (wine), and make an assault upon (lit. apply strength to) fortified philosophy. You perceive that the noontide is declining, but (yet), as if the fleeting day stood still, you hesitate to hurry down from the wine-loft the lingering jar (from the time) of the consul Bibulus (i.e. 59 B.C.). We shall sing, in turns, of Neptune and of the sea-green locks of the Nereids; you will sing in reply, on your curved lyre, of Latona and of the swift darts of Cynthia (i.e. Diana), (and) at the conclusion of your song (of her) who dwells in Cnidus and the gleaming Cyclades, and visits Paphos with her team of (lit. united) swans (i.e. Venus); night also shall be praised (lit. sung of) in a suitable lay.
Carmen XXIX. To Maecenas. (Alcaic metre.) In this poem addressed to his patron in 23 B.C., Horace invites Maecenas to put aside the cares of state and join him on his humble farm. Once again Horace warms to the theme of his preference for the simple life.
(O) Maecenas, Etruscan progeny of kings, for you there has been for a long while in my house (some) mellow wine in a cask not yet (lit. before) broached (lit. tilted), with the flowers of roses, and balsam pressed for your hair. Tear yourself away from impediments, nor gaze wistfully (lit. contemplate) at the ever marshy Tibur and the ploughland of Aefula and the hills of the parricide Telegonus (i.e. Tusculum). Abandon boring abundance and that pile (which is) close to the lofty clouds; cease to admire the smoke and the opulence and the noise of blessed Rome. Change (is) generally welcome to the rich, and simple meals at the hearth of poor men, without tapestries and purple (coverlets), (ever) eased (lit. unfolded) the anxious brow. Now the shining father of Andromeda is displaying his hidden fire, now Procyon is raging, and the star of the ravening Lion, with the sun bringing back the days of drought (lit. the dry days), now the weary shepherd with his languid flock seeks the shade and the river and the thickets of rough Silvanus, and the silent bank is in want of the wandering winds. You worry about what constitution would suit the state, and you are anxiously fearful for the City what the Chinese, and Bactra, (once) ruled by Cyrus, and the unruly Tanais (i.e. the Don) are preparing. A wise god shuts into dark night the issue of the time to come, and smiles, if (any) mortal worries beyond the law of nature. Remember to manage with a tranquil mind that which is at hand; the rest is carried along like a river, at one moment gliding peacefully (lit. with peace) in mid-channel down to the Etruscan sea, at another rolling along corroded stones, and tree-stumps torn away, and cattle, and homes, (all) together, not without the roar of mountains and the neighbouring forest, when a fierce flood excites the quiet river. That man (is) in control of himself and shall pass his time happily, who can say (lit. to whom it is permitted to have said) each day "I have lived": tomorrow let the father invest the heavens with a dark cloud or bright sun(-light): yet he shall not render void whatever is behind (us), nor reshape and make undone that which the fleeting hour has once brought. Fortune, happy in her cruel business, and stubborn at playing her insolent game, changes her uncertain honours, kind now to me, now to another. I praise (her) while she stays (lit. staying) (with me); if she shakes her swift wings, I resign what she has given, and wrap myself up in my virtue, and seek honest poverty without a dowry. It is not my (way), if the mast groans with African storms, to have recourse to piteous prayers, and with vows to bargain lest my merchandise from Cyprus and Tyre adds to the wealth of the insatiable sea: then the breeze and the twin Pollux will carry me safely, in the protection of a two-oared skiff, through the storms of the Aegean.
Carmen XXX. On his own works. (First Asclepiad metre.) An epilogue or 'sphragis' (seal), in which the poet makes his claim to immortality; his 'Odes' will last longer than monuments of bronze or stone.
I have completed a memorial (lit. tombstone) more lasting than bronze and loftier than the royal site of pyramids, such as neither a biting storm nor a violent North Wind nor a countless succession of years and a flight of ages can overthrow. I shall not all die, and a great part of me will cheat Libitina (i.e. the goddess of funerals): I shall grow ever fresh in the praise of posterity, while the priest will climb the Capitol with the silent (Vestal) virgin. I shall be spoken of where the Aufidus (i.e. a river in Apulia) roars in fury, and where Daunus, poor in water, ruled over rural peoples, (as one who) rising to power from a poor (estate) (was) the first to have conducted Aeolian song to Italian measures. Take the pride (of place) won by your deserts, Melpomene (i.e. one of the Muses), and kindly garland my locks with Delphic laurel.
APPENDIX. CELEBRATED QUOTATIONS FROM "ODES" BOOK III.
Odi profanum volgus et arceo: / favete linguis: carmina non prius / audita Musarum sacerdos / virginibus puerisque canto: I abhor the unhallowed throng and hold (it) aloof; be well-omened with your lips: (as) priest of the Muses, I sing to maidens and to boys prophecies not heard before. (I. 1-4)
Post equitem sedet atra Cura: Black Care sits behind the horseman. (I. 40)
Cur valle permutem Sabina / divitias operosiores?: Why should I exchange my Sabine valley for more troublesome riches? (I. 47-48)
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori: It is sweet and becoming to die on behalf of one's country. (II. 13)
Raro antecedentem scelestum / deseruit pede Poena claudo: Rarely has Retribution with her halting foot abandoned a wicked man (though) far in front. (II. 31-32)
Iustum et tenacem propositi virum / non civium ardor prava iubentium, / non voltus instantis tyranni / mente quatit solida: Neither the passion of citizens urging wrongful things, nor the expression of a lowering tyrant shakes the man who is just and tenacious of purpose from his rocklike intention. (III. 1-4)
Si fractus illabatur orbis, / impavidum ferient ruinae: If the shattered heavens were to fall in upon (him), the ruins would strike (him) undismayed. (III. 7-8)
Auditis, an me ludit amabilis / insania?: Do you (all) hear, or does (some) fond illusion mock me? (IV. 5-6)
Fratres tendentes opaco / Pelion imposuisse Olympo: And those brothers striving to have piled Pelion upon shady Olympus. (IV. 51-52)
Vis consili expers mole ruit sua: Force, devoid of judgment, falls under its own weight. (IV. 65)
Delicta maiorum immeritus lues: (Though) guiltless you will atone for your fathers' sins. (VI. 1)
Aetas parentum peior avis tulit / nos nequiores mox daturos / progeniem vitiosiorem: The age of our fathers, worse than (that) of our grandfathers, bore us more wicked (still), soon about to beget progeny (even) more degenerate. (VI. 46-48)
Splendide mendax et in omne virgo: Gloriously false and a maiden renowned for all time. (XI. 35-36)
O fons Bandusiae, splendidior vitro: O spring of Bandusia, more brilliant than glass. (XIII. 1)
Non ego hoc ferrem calidus iuventa / consule Planco: I should not have borne this (treatment), (when) warm with youth, (with) Plancus (being) consul. (XIV. 27-28)
Magnas inter opes inops: A pauper amidst great wealth. (XVI. 28)
Multa petentibus / desunt multa: bene est, cui deus obtulit / parce, quod satis est, manu: Much is wanting to those seeking much: it is well (with him), to whom god has bestowed, with a sparing hand, what is enough. (XVI. 42-44)
Vix puellis nuper idoneus / et militavi non sine gloria; / nunc arma defunctumque bello / barbiton hic paries habebit: I have lived (until) lately (as) a suitable (person) for girls, and I have campaigned not without glory; (but) now this wall shall keep my weapons and my lyre, discharged from warfare. (XXVI. 1-4)
Quod est memento / componere aequus: Remember to manage with a tranquil mind what is at hand. (XXIX. 32-33)
Ille potens sui / laetusque deget, cui licet in diem dixisse 'vixi': That man (is) in control of himself and shall pass his time happily, who can say each day 'I have lived'. (XXXIX. 41-43)
Exegi monumentum aere perennius: I have completed a memorial more lasting than bronze. (XXX. 1)
Non omnis moriar: I shall not all die. (XXX. 6)
