Showing posts with label Venus/Aphrodite. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Venus/Aphrodite. Show all posts

Monday, April 18, 2011

Horace, Carmen Saeculare

Phoebe silvarumque potens Diana,
lucidum caeli decus, o colendi
semper et culti, date quae precamur
tempore sacro,

quo Sibyllini monuere versus
virgines lectas puerosque castos
dis quibus septem placuere colles
dicere carmen.

Alme Sol, curru nitido diem qui
promis et celas aliusque et idem
nasceris, possis nihil urbe Roma
visere maius!

Rite maturos aperire partus
lenis, Ilithyia, tuere matres,
sive tu Lucina probas vocari
seu Genitalis.

Diva, producas subolem patrumque
prosperes decreta super iugandis
feminis prolisque novae feraci
lege marita,

certus undenos deciens per annos
orbis ut cantus referatque ludos
ter die claro totiensque grata
nocte frequentis.

Vosque veraces cecinisse, Parcae,
quod semel dictum est, stabilisque rerum
terminus servet, bona iam peractis
iungite fata.

Fertilis frugum pecorisque tellus
spicea donet Cererem corona;
nutriant fetus et aquae salubres
et Iovis aurae.

Condito mitis placidusque telo
supplices audi pueros, Apollo;
siderum regina bicornis, audi,
Luna, puellas.

Roma si vestrum est opus Iliaeque
litus Etruscum tenuere turmae,
iussa pars mutare Lares et urbem
sospite cursu,

cui per ardentem sine fraude Troiam
castus Aeneas patriae superstes
liberum munivit iter, daturus
plura relictis,

di, probos mores docili iuventae,
di, senectuti placidae quietem,
Romulae genti date remque prolemque
et decus omne.

Quaeque vos bubus veneratur albis
clarus Anchisae Venerisque sanguis,
impetret, bellante prior, iacentem
lenis in hostem.

Iam mari terraque manus potentis
Medus Albanasque timet securis,
iam Scyythae responsa petunt superbi
nuper et Indi.

Iam Fides et Pax et Honos Pudorque
priscus et neglecta redire Virtus
audet, apparetque beata pleno
Copia cornu.

Augur et fulgente decorus arcu
Phoebus acceptusque novem Camenis,
qui salutari levat arte fessos
corporis artus,

si Palatinas videt aequus aras,
remque Romanam Latiumque felix
alterum in lustrum meliusque semper
prorogat aevum;

quaeque Aventinum tenet Algidumque,
quindecim Diana preces virorum
curat et votis puerorum amicas
applicat auris.

Haec Iovem sentire deosque cunctos
spem bonam certamque domum reporto,
doctus et Phoebi chorus et Dianae
dicere laudes.


Phoebus and Diana, ruler of the forests,
shining glory of heaven, oh you to be worshiped
and must always be worshiped, give that which we pray for
in this sacred time,

when the Sabylline verses advised
the chosen virgins and pure boys
to sing a song for the gods for whom the seven
hills are pleasing.

Nourishing Sol, you who brings forth and conceals the day
with your shining chariot, and are born another and
the same, may you be able to see nothing greater
than the city of Rome!

Duly gentle to uncover timely
births, Ilithyia, watch over mothers,
whether you assent to be called Lucina
or Genitalis.

Goddess, may you bring forth offspring and bless
the decrees of our fathers over marriage to
women, and the law on marriage with new
fruitful offspring,

so that the fixed orbit of ten times eleven years
may bring back songs and games
crowded three times in the bright day and as often
in the pleasing night.

And you, Fates, truthful to have sung
that which had once been fixed, and may the
boundary of stable things keep it (so), now join
good fates with completed ones.

May the earth, fertile in fruits and the herd,
present Ceres with a crown of grain;
may the healthy rains and breezes of Jove
nourish the harvest.

Apollo, gentle and calm, with your weapon
put away, hear the suppliant youths;
Luna, two-horned queen of stars, hear
the girls.

If Rome is your work and Ilian
troops held the Etruscan shore,
a part ordered to change their home and city
in a safe course,

for whom chaste Aeneas, survivor of the fatherland,
built a way for freedom through burning Troy
without trickery, about to give more (good things)
than those left behind:

gods, grant honest manners to the docile youth,
gods, grant peace in the calm of old age,
grant resources and offspring and every honor
to the race of Romulus.

And that which, with white bulls, the bright
family of Anchises and Venus asks of you,
superior to the warring one, gentle to the
fallen enemy.

Now the Parthian fears our troops, lords of
sea and land, and the axes of Alba,
now the Scythians and the Indi, haughty until recently,
seek answers.

Now Faith and Peace and Honor and ancient
Modesty and neglected Virtue dare to
return and blessed Plenty, with a full horn,
makes an appearance.

Phoebus, prophet decorated with a gleaming
bow and dear to the nine Muses,
who, with his saving art, relieves the tired
limbs of the body,

if he kindly looks on the altars on the Palatine,
and and always prolongs Roman strength and
the prosperity of Latium for a further cycle and
to a better age,

and Diana, she who holds Aventine and Algidus,
attends to the prayers of the fifteen men
and places friendly ears nears the
appeals of the youth.

So that Jupiter and all the gods perceive these
(words), I carry back home a good and sure hope,
I and the chorus taught to tell the praises of
Phoebus and of Diana.


Sunday, April 17, 2011

Horace, Ode 4.1

Intermissa, Venus, diu
rursus bella moves? Parce, precor, precor.
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.

Tempestivius in domum
Pauli, purpureis ales oloribus,
comissabere Maximi,
si torrere iecur quaeris idoneum.

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.

Illic plurima naribus
duces tura, lyraeque et Berecyntiae
delectabere tibiae
mixtis carminibus non sine fistula;

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

Me nec femina nec puer
iam nec spes animi credula mutui
nec certare iuvat mero
nec vincire novis tempora floribus.

Sed cur heu, Ligurine, cur
manat rara meas lacrima per genas?
Cur facunda parum decoro
inter verba cadit lingua silentio?

Nocturnis ego somniis
iam captum teneo, iam volucrem sequor
te per gramina Martii
campi, te per aquas, dure, volubilis.


Venus, are you again moving
the wars stopped for a long time? Spare me, I pray, I pray.
I am not the kind which I was
under the rule of good Cinara. Cease, savage

mother of sweet Cupids,
to now soften the hard one about fifty
to your gentle commands: go forth
to where the gentle prayers of youths call you back.

You will more timely carouse,
winged by purple swans, to the
house of Paulus Maximus,
if you seek a suitable liver to burn.

For a boy noble and pleasant
and not silent on behalf of worried defendants
and of one hundred skills
will bear your military standard far;

and at whatever time he, more powerful,
laughs at the gifts of a lavish rival,
he will put a marble you (or statue of you)
under a citrus-wood roof near the Alban lake.

There, you will lead to your nostrils
the greatest frankincenses, and you will delight in the
songs mixed with the Phrygian pipe
and the flute not without the pan-pipe;

There the boys with the
tender virgins praising your divinity twice a day
will shake the earth
three times in the Salian custom.

Now, neither a woman nor a boy
nor the trusting hope of a mutual spirit
nor to struggle with wine
nor to bind the times with fresh flowers is pleasing to me.

But alas, why, Ligurinus, why
does a rare tear flow down my cheeks?
Why does my elegant speech
fall to an unbecoming silence among words ?

Now I hold you, unfeeling,
caught in my dreams at night, now I follow you
flying through the grassy
Martius field, through rolling seas.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Horace, Ode 3.26

Vixi puellis nuper idoneus
et militavi non sine gloria.
Nunc arma defunctumque bello
barbiton hic paries habebit,

laevum marinae qui Veneris latus
custodit. Hic, hic ponite lucida
funalia et vectes et arcus
oppositis foribus minacis.

O quae beatam diva tenes Cyprum et
Memphin carentem Sithonia nive,
regina, sublimi flagello
tange Chloen semel arrogantem.



Recently, I lived suitable for boys
and I served as a soldier not without glory.
Now this wall will have my weapons
and my lyre dead from war,

which guards the left side of marine
Venus. Here, here put the bright
torches and levers and bows
threatening to the opposite doors.

Oh, blessed goddess of Cyprus who holds
Memphis free from Sithonian snow,
queen, with your uplifted lash
touch arrogant Chloe once.

Horace, Ode 3.21

O nata mecum consule Manlio,
seu tu querelas sive geris iocos
seu rixam et insanos ameres
seu facilem, pia testa, somnum,

quocumque lectum nomine Massicum
servas, moveri digna bono die,
descende Corvino iubente
promere languidiora vina.

Non ille, quamquam Socraticis madet
sermonibus, te negleget horridus:
narratur et prisci Catonis
saepe mero caluisse virtus.

Tu lene tormentum ingenio admoves
plerumque duro; tu sapientium
curas et arcanum iocoso
consilium retegis Lyaeo;

tu spem reducis mentibus anxiis
viresque et addis cornua pauperi,
post te neque iratos trementi
regum apcies neque militum arma.

Te Liber et si laeta aderit Venus
senesque nodum slovere Gratiae
vivaeque producent lucernae,
dum rediens fugat astra Phoebus.


Oh pious jar, born by consul Manlius with me,
whether you carry complaints with jokes
or a fight and insane loves
or easy sleep,

You preserve select Massic wine under whatever
pretext, worthy to be brought down on an auspicious day,
descend by Corvinus ordering
to bring out a fainter wine.

That one, although he is wet with Socratic
speeches, will not be so austere as to neglect you:
and the virtue of ancient Cato is often said
to have grown warm with wine.

You apply a twist of the arm with an
unusually harsh nature; you reveal the problems
of philosophers and secret
debates to funny Bacchus;

you restore hope to anxious minds
and you increase strength and horns for the poor,
after you trembling at neither the angry crowns
of kings nor the weapons of soldiers.

Liber and Venus, if she arrives happy,
and the Graces slow to break their clasp
and the oil lamps alight will prolong you,
while Phoebus returning will chase away the stars.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Horace, Ode 1.27

Natis in usum laetitiae scyphis
pugnare Thracum est: tollite barbarum
morem, verecundumque Bacchum
sanguineis prohibete rixis.

Vino et lucernis Medus acinaces
immane quantum discrepat: impium
lenite clamorem, sodales,
et cubito remanete presso.

Vultis severi me quoque sumere
partem Falerni? Dicat Opuntiae
frater Megillae, quo beatus
vulnere, qua pereat sagitta.

Cessat voluntas? Non alia bibam
mercede. Quae te cumque comat Venus,
non erubescendis adurit
ignibus igenuoque semper

amore peccas. Quicquid habes, age,
depone tutis auribus. A miser,
quanta laborabas Charybdi,
digne puer meliore flamma!

Quae saga, quis te solvere Thessalis
magus venenis, quis poterit deus?
Vix illigatum te triformi
Pegasus expediet Chimaera.


It is Thracian to fight with bowls made for
the use of happiness: toss away the barbaric
custom, and defend modest Bacchus
from bloody battles.

How greatly the Persian dagger is at odds
with wine and oil lamps: calm the
impious shouting, friends,
and remain on your pressed elbows.

You wish me to likewise take up a part of
stern Falernian wine? The brother of
Opus will speak, by which wound he is
blessed, by which arrow he is wounded.

Does desire withdraw? I will drink for no other
price. With whom does Venus tame you,
she burns with no fires that you need blush
for and she always blunders with natural

love. Whatever you have, come on,
put it down on safe ears. Oh wretched one,
you labored over such a Charybdis,
boy worthy of better flame!

Which witch, which magician, which god is able
to release you from Thessalian poisons?
Pegasus will scarcely free you entangled
with a tri-formed Chimaera.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Horace, Ode 1.18

Nullam, Vare, sacra vite prius severis arborem
circa mite solum Tibruis et moenia Catili;
siccis omnia nam dura deus proposiuit neque
mordaces aliter diffugiunt sollicitundines.
Quis post vina gravem militiam aut pauperiem crepat?
Quis non te potius, Bacche pater, teque decens Venus?
Ac ne quis modici transiliat munera Liberi,
Centaurea monet cum Lapithis rixa super mero
debellata, menet Sithoniis non levis Euhius,
cum fas atque nefas exiguo fine libidinum
discernunt avidi. Non ego te, candide Bassareu,
invitum quatiam nec variis obsita frondibus
sub divum rapiam. Saeva tene cum Berecyntio
cornu tympana, quae subsequitur caecus Amor sui
et tollens vacuam plus nimio Gloria verticem
arcanique Fides prodiga, perlucidior vitro.


Plant no tree, Varus, before the sacred vine
around the soft ground of the Tibur and walls of Catilus;
a god has ordained everything difficult for dry people and
biting anxieties don't flee in any other way.
Who rattles on about serious military service or poverty after wine?
Who does not rattle on more about you, father Bacchus, and you, comely Venus?
And yet anyone abuses the gifts of moderate Bacchus,
the battle fought to the bitter end of the Centaurs over their wine with the
Lapiths warns, Bacchus not light with the Thracians warns,
when those greedy of desire discern lawful from sin
with a small limit. I do not shake you, white Bacchus,
unwilling, nor do I snatch by the light of day your
sacred things covered with various leaves. Hold savage
drums and the horn from Berecyntus, which blind self-love follows
and Glory raising an empty crown too high and
Faith wasteful of secrets, more transparent than glass.

Horace, Ode 2.7

O saepe mecum tempus in ultimum
deducte Bruto militiae duce,
quis te redonavit Quiritem
dis patriis Italoque caelo,

Pompei, meorum prime sodalium,
cum quo morantem saepe diem mero
fregi, coronatus nitentis
malobathro Syrio capillos?

Tecum Philippos et celerem fugam
sensi relicta non bene parmula,
cum fracta virtus et minaces
turpe solum tetigere mento.

Sed me per hostis Mercurius celer
denso paventem sustulit aere;
te rursus in bellum resorbens
unda fretis tulit aestuosis.

Ergo obligatam redde Iovi dapem,
longaque fessum militia latus
depone sub lauru mea nec
parce cadis tibi destinatis.

Oblivioso levia Massico
ciboria exple, funde capacibus
unguenta de conchis. Quis udo
deproperare apio coronas

curatve myrto? Quem Venus arbitrum
dicet bibendi? Non ego sanius
bacchabor Edonis; recepto
dulce mihi furere est amico.



Oh Pompey, having been led often with me
into extreme peril with Brutus as leader of the military,
who returned you as a citizen to
your family gods and Italian sky,

first of my companions,
with whom I have often delayed the last day
with wine, crowned (as to my) hairs shining
with a Syrian plant?

With you I have experienced Philippi and a
swift escape with my little shield not well left behind,
when strength had been subdued and threatening people
touched the disgraceful ground with their chin.

But quick Mercury raised me, frightened,
through enemies in a dense air;
on the other hand, a wave swallowing you
brought you to war in a burning sea.

Therefore, render an owed feast to Jove,
and put down your side tired from long military
service under my laurel and do not
refrain from the jars intended for you.

Fill up the light cups with
Massican wine, pour oils into
the large shells. Who arranges to
hurry with the crowns with garland

or myrtle? Whom will Venus appoint
as master of drinking? I will not run wild
more safely than Thracians; it is sweet
for me to be wild with a recovered friend.