Sunday, February 27, 2011

Horace, Ode 1.5

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa
perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?
Cui flavam religas comam,

simplex munditiis? Heu quotiens fidem
mutatosque deos flebit et aspera
nigris aequora ventis
emirabitur insolens

qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,
qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem
sperat, nescius aurae
fallacis. Miseri, quibus

intemptata nites. Me tabula sacer
votiva paries indicat uvida
suspendisse potenti
vestimenta maris deo.

What slender boy drenched in liquid perfumes
presses upon you many roses,
Pyrrha, under a pleasing cave?
For whom do you tie your yellow hair,

simple with elegance? Alas, how often he will
lament faithlessness and changed gods and he will
marvel in surprise at the rough sea with
black winds

he who now enjoys you, trusting, you are golden,
he who hopes that you will always be free, always lovable,
unaware of a treacherous breeze.
Wretched ones, for whom

you, untried, shine. The sacred wall with the
votive tablet indicates that I have suspended
my wet clothes to the
god of the sea.


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