Horace, Ode 2.13

Ille et nefasto te posuit die,

quicumque primum, et sacrilega manu

produxit, arbos, in nepotum

perniciem opprobriumque pagi.

Illum et parentis credidderim sui

fregisse cervicem et penetralia

sparsisse nocturno cruore

hospitis; ille venena Colcha

et quicquid usquam concipitur nefas

tractavit, agro qui statuit meo

te, triste lignum, te caducum

in domini caput immerentis.

Quid quisque vitet, numquam homini satis

cautum est in horas. Navita Bosphorum

Poenus perhorrescit neque ultra

caeca timet aliunde fata;

miles sagittas et celerem fugam

Parthi, catenas Parthus et Italum

robur; sed improvisa leti

vis rapuit rapietque gentis.

Quam paene furvae regna Proserpinae

et iudicantem vidimus Aeacum

sedesque discriptas piorum et

Aeoliis fidibus querentem

Sappho puellis de popularibus

et te sonantem plenius aureo,

Alcaee, plectro dura navis,

dura fugae mala, dura belli.

Utrumque sacro digna silentio

mirantur umbrae dicere; sed magis

pugnas et exactos tyrannos

densum umeris bibit aure vulgus.

Quid mirum, ubi illis carminibus stupens

demittit atras belua centiceps

auris, et intorti capillis

Eumenidum recreantur angues?

Quin et Prometheus et Pelopis parens

dulci laborem decipitur sono,

nec curat Orion leones

aut timidos agitare lyncas.

He placed you on an inauspicious day,

whoever first placed you, and with a sacrilegious hand

he tended you, tree, to the ruin of his descendants

and the shame of the district.

I would believe that he had broke the neck

of his parents and that he had scattered the

hearthstones with the nocturnal blood

of h is guest; he has dealt with Colchian poisons

and whatever sin is ever conceived,

he who placed you in my field,

wretched log, you destined to fall

on the head of an undeserving master.

That which one avoids, one is never cautious

enough from one hour to the next. A Punic sailor

trembles at the Bosphorus, and does not fear

blind fates from somewhere else beyond;

a soldier trembles at the arrows and swift flight

of Parthia, and a Parthian fears Italian chains and

strength; but the unexpected strength of death

has seized and will seize the nations.

How nearly I did see the kingdoms of

dusky Proserpina and judging Aeacus

and the assigned seats of the pious ones and

Sappho complaining with an Aeolian lyre

about the local girls

and you, Alcaeus, sounding more fully

with a golden quill of the hardships at sea,

the evil hardships of exile, and the hardships of war.

The shades each marvel to say things worthy

of a sacred silence; but the crowd, packed to the

shoulders, drinks with their ear more

the battles and exiled tyrants.

What strange thing is it, when the hundred-headed

beast, astounded by these songs, droops his black

ears, and the snakes twisting

in the hairs of the Fates rest?

Yes, even Prometheus and the parent of Pelops

are deceived with respect to their labor by a sweet sound,

nor does Orion care to pursue

the lions or the timid lynxes.