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.

Horace, Ode 1.22

Integer vitae scelerisque purus

non eget Mauris iaculis neque arcu

nec venenatis gravida sagittis,

Fusce, pharetra,

sive per Syrtis iter aestuosas

sive facturus per inhospitalem

Caucasum vel quae loca fabulosus

lambit Hydaspes.

Namque me silva lupus in Sabina,

dum meam canto Lalagen et ultra

terminum curis vagor expeditis,

fugit inermem;

quale portentum neque militaris

Daunias latis alit aesculetis

nec Iubae tellus generat, Ieonum

arida nutrix.

Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis

arbor aestiva recreatur aura,

quod latus mundi nebulae malusque

Iuppiter urget;

pone sub curru nimium propinqui

solis in terra domibus negata:

dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,

dulce loquentem.

He who is upright in life and pure of sin

does not need Moorish javelins nor bow

nor a quiver swollen with poisonous

arrows, Fuscus,

whether a journey must be made through the burning

Syrtes or through the inhospitable Caucasus

or the places which the famous

Hydaspes washes.

On the other hand, in the Sabine forest, while I

am singing of my Lalage and wandering beyond my

border free from cares, a wolf flees

me, unarmed;

such a omen as warlike Apulia does not

support in the wide oak forests

and the land of Juba does not produce, dry

nurse of lions.

Put me in lazy fields where no

tree is restored by a summer breeze,

the side of the world which clouds and bad

weather presses;

put me under the chariot of the too-near

sun, in a land denied houses:

I will love Lalage sweetly laughing,

sweetly speaking.

Horace, Ode 2.10

Rectius vives, Licini, neque altum

semper urgendo neque, dum procellas

cautus horrescis, nimium premendo

litus iniquum.

Auream quisquis mediocritatem

diligit, tutus caret obsoleti

sordibus tecti, caret invidenda

sobrius aula.

Saepius ventis agitatur ingens

pinus et celsae graviore casu

decidunt turres feriuntque summos

fulgura montis.

Sperat infestis, metuit secundis

alteram sortem bene praeparatum

pectus. Informis hiemes reducit

Iuppiter; idem

summovet. Non, si male nunc, et olim

sic erit: quondam cithara tacentem

suscitat Musam neque semper arcum

tendit Apollo.

Rebus angustis animosus atque

fortis appare; sapienter idem

contrahes vento nimium secundo

turgida vela.

You will live better, Licinius, by neither

always pressing the deep nor, while you carefully

dread storms, by excessively pressing

the treacherous shore.

Whoever values a golden mean

is safely free from the squalor

of a worn-out house, is soberly free from

an envious palace.

The vast pine is more often moved

by the wind and the high towers fall

with a more serious fall and the lightening

strikes the highest mountains.

The well-prepared heart hopes for the other fate

in dangerous affairs, and fears the other fate in favorable

affairs. Jupiter brings back ugly

winters; likewise,

he removes them. If it is badly now, once it will

not be so: once Apollo stirs the silent

Muse with his lyre and does not

always stretch his bow.

Appear strong and firm in steep

affairs; likewise, you will wisely

shorten your sails swollen in a

too favorable wind.

Horace, Ode 2.15

Iam pauca aratro iugera regiae

moles relinquent, undique latius

extenta visentur Lucrino

stagna lacu, plantanusque caelebs

evincet ulmos; tum violaria et

myrtus et omnis copia narium

spargent olivetis oderem

fertilibus domino priori.

Tum spissa ramis laurea fervidos

excludet ictus. Non ita Romuli

praescriptum et intonsi Catonis

auspiciis veterumque norma.

Privatus illis census erat brevis,

commune magnum; nulla decempedis

metata privatis opacam

porticus excipiebat Arcton,

nec fortuitum spernere caespitem

leges sinebant, oppida publico

sumptu iubentes et deorum

templa novo decorare saxo.

Now the kingly piles abandon few

fields to the plow, and the stretched pools

will be visited on all sides by the wider

Lucrine Lake, and the unmarried plane-tree

will drive out the elms; then the violets and

myrtles and all the wealth of the nostrils

will scatter their odor in the olive-yards fertile

for an earlier master.

Then the laurel with thick branches will shut out the

fiery strokes. Not thus had it been ordered for

Romulus and the auspices of unshaven Cato

and by the old standard.

The private census was short for these,

the public census was great; no covered walkway

with ten feet measured was retaining the

shady North for private citizens,

nor were the laws allowing to scorn

chance earth, and the towns ordered to honor

the temples of the gods with new stone

at public expense.

Horace, Ode 1.23

Vitas inuleo me similis, Chloe,

quaerenti pavidam montibus aviis

matrem non sine vano

aurarum et siluae metu.

Nam seu mobilibus veris inhorruit

adventus foliis, seu virides rubum

dimovere lacertae,

et corde et genibus tremit.

Atqui non ego te tigris ut aspera

Gaetulusve leo frangere persequor:

tandem desine matrem

tempestiva sequi viro.

You avoid me like a fawn, Chloe,

searching for its fearful mother in lonely

mountains not without an empty fear

of breezes and the forest.

For whether the arrival of spring quivers

with moving leaves, or the green lizards have

pushed aside the bramble,

and the fawn trembles with its heart and knees.

And yet I do not pursue you to crush you

as a harsh tiger or Gaetulian lion:

finally you, ripe to follow a man,

abandon your mother.

Horace, Epode 2

"Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,

ut prisca gens mortalium,

paterna rura bobus exercet suis,

solutus omni faenore,

neque excitatur classico miles truci,

neque horret iratum mare,

forumque vitat et superba civium

potentiorum limina.

Ergo aut adulta vitium propagine

altas maritat populos,

aut in reducta valle mugientium

prospectat errantis greges,

inutilisque falce ramos amputans

feliciores inserit,

aut pressa puris mella condit amphoris,

aut tondet infirmas ovis;

vel cum decorum mitibus pomis caput

Autumnus agris extulit,

ut gaudet insitiva decerpens pira

certantem et uvam purpurae,

qua muneretur te, Priape, et te, pater

Silvane, tutor finium.

Libet iacere modo sub antiqua ilice,

modo in tenaci gramine;

labuntur altis interim ripis aquae,

queruntur in silvis aves,

fontesque lymphis obstrepunt manantibus,

somnos quod invitet levis.

At cum tonantis annus hibernus Iovis

imbres nivesque comparat,

aut trudit acris hinc et hinc multa cane

apros in obstantis plagas,

aut amite levi rara tendit retia,

turdis edacibus dolos,

pavidumque leporem et advenam laqueo gruem

iucunda captat praemia.

Quis non malarum quas amor curas habet

haec inter obliviscitur?

Quodsi pudica mulier in partem iuvet

domum atque dulcis liberos,

Savina qualis aut perusta solibus

pernici uxor Apuli,

sacrum vetustis exstruat lignis focum

lassi sub adventum viri,

claudensque textis cratibus laetum pecus

distenta sicceet ubera,

et horna dulci vina promens dolio

dapes inemptas apparet,

non me Lucrina iuverint conchylia

magisve rhombus aut scari,

si quos Eois intonata fluctibus

hiems ad hoc vertat mare,

non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum,

non attagen Ionicus

iucundior quam lecta de pinguissimis

oliva ramis arborum

aut herba lapathi prata amantis et gravi

malvae salubres corpori,

vel agna festis caesa Terminalibus

vel haedus ereptus lupo.

Has inter epulas ut iuvat pastas oves

videre properantis domum,

videre fessos vomerem inversum boves

collo trahentis languido

positosque vernas, ditis examen domus,

circum renidentis Lares."

Haec ubi locutus faenerator Alfius,

iam iam futurus rusticus,

omnem redegit Idibus pecuniam,

quaerit Kalendis ponere.

He is blessed who, away from work,

just as the ancient race of mortals,

cultivates his father's farms with his ox,

free from all debt,

and, a soldier, is not stirred up by the wild trumpet,

and, angry, does not shudder at the sea,

and avoids the forum and arrogant thresholds

of powerful citizens.

Therefore either may he marry the high poplars

with the mature offspring of the vines,

or may he gaze out at the herds of wandering (animals),

with the lowing cattle having returned to the valley,

and having cut off the useless branches with a pruning knife

may be graft on the fruitful branches,

or having pressed the honey may he put into clean pitchers,

or may he sheer the gentle sheep;

even when Autumn carried out its head with the adorned

ripe fruits of the field,

how he delights to pluck the grafted pears

and the purple grapes,

with which to honor you, Priapus, and you, father

Silvanus, protector of the country.

It is pleasing to lie now under the ancient ree,

now on the thick grass;

at the same time he slips on the high banks of water,

the birds complain in the forests,

and the streams roar with flowing water,

which invites light sleeps.

But when the winter season provides rains and

snow of thundering Jove,

or pushes the bitter boars here and here with a dog

of many opposing strokes,

or stretches the thin net with the smooth pole,

tricks for greedy thrushes,

and entices with a trap the timid rabbit and foreign

crane, pleasing prizes.

Who does not forget the cares of evil which he holds

among love?

But if a chaste woman helps the house

and sweet children in part,

like a Sabine woman or a wife of persistent

Apulus burned by the sun,

she builds a sacred altar with old wood before

the arrival of a tired man,

and closing the happy herd in the wicker structure,

she drys the full udders,

and, bringing out this year's wines from the sweet jar,

she prepares the unbought fest,

Lucrinus oysters are not pleasing to me more than

turbot or scarfish,

if winter, thundering on the Eastern waves, turned them

to this sea,

the African bird does not descend to my stomach,

nor the Ionican grouse more

pleasing than an olive picked from the fattest

branch of the tree,

or a meadow herb of loving sorrel and a beneficial

plant for a heavy body,

either a ewe slaughtered for the festival of boundaries,

or a kid rescued from a wolf.

Among these feasts how pleasing to see the freed sheep

hurrying home,

to see the tired cows dragging the upside-down plow

with tired necks

and the arranged slaves, swarm of a wealthy home,

around shining Lares."

When the money-lender Alfius had said these things,

now already about to be a farmer,

he returned all money on the Ides,

he seeks to put it on the Kalends.

Horace, Ode 1.9

Vides ut alta stet nive candidum

Soracte, nec iam sustineant onus

silvae laborantes, geluque

flumina constiterint acuto.

Dissolve frigues ligna super foco

large reponens atque benignius

deprome quadrimum Sabina,

o Thaliarche, merum diota.

Permitte divis cetera, qui simul

stravere ventos aequore fervido

deproeliantis, nec cupressi

nec veteres agitantur orni.

Quid sit futurum cras fuge quaerere, et

quem Fors dierum cumque dabit lucro

appone, nec dulcis ameres

sperne puer neque tu choreas,

donec virenti canities abest

morosa. Nunc et campus et areae

lenesque sub noctem susurri

composita reqetantur hora,

nunc et latentis proditor intimo

gratus puellae risus ab angulo

pignusque derptum lacertis

aut digito male pertinaci.

You see how high Soracte stands, bright with

snow, and no longer do the straining forests

support the burden, and the rivers have

frozen with sharp frost.

Melt the cold piling logs high upon

the hearth and more generously

draw off the four-winter wine, oh

Thaliarche, from the Sabine jar.

Leave other things to the gods, who

as soon as they calm the winds on the stormy seas

from fighting each other, they agitate neither

the cypress trees nor the old ash trees.

Avoid seeking what is about to be tomorrow, and

assign to profit whatever days Fortune will

give, and scorn neither loves

nor dances, boy,

while your bloom is absent from irritable

white hairs. Now both field and parks

and light whispers repeated under night

at the arranged hour,

and now the pleasing laughter betraying the

hidden girl in the most secret corner

and the pledge seized from the

badly resisting arms with a finger.

Horace, Ode 3.13

O fons Bandusiae, splendidior vitro,

dulci digne mero non sine floribus,

cras donaberis haedo,

cui frons turgida cornibus

primis et venerem et proelia destinat.

Frustra: nam gelidos inficiet tibi

rubro sanguine rivos

lascivi suboles gregis.

Te flagrantis atrox hora Caniculae

nescit tangere, tu frigus amabile

fessis vomere tauris

praebes et pecori vago.

Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium,

me diecente cavis impositam ilicem

saxis, unde loquaces

lymphae desiliunt tuae.

Oh fountain of Bandusia, more splendid than glass,

appropriate for sweet wine not without flowers,

tomorrow you will be presented with a kid,

whose forehead growing with first horns

is destined for love and battles.

In vain: for the offspring of the playful herd

will stain your cold streams

with red blood.

The fierce hour (or season) of flaming Canicula

does not know to touch you, you offer

pleasant cold to the bulls tired from

the plow and the wandering herd.

Even you will become the most famous of fountains,

with me singing of the wood established on hollow

stones, from which your talkative

waters jump down.

Horace, Ode 1.17

Velox amoenum saepe Lucretilem

mutat Lycaeo Faunus et igneam

defendit aestatem capellis

usque meis pluviosque ventos.

Impune tutum per nemus arbutos

quaerunt latentis et thyma deviae

olentis uxores mariti,

nec viridis metuunt colubras

nec Martialis haediliae lupos,

utcumque dulci, Tyndari, fistula

valles et Usticae cubantis

levia personuere saxa.

Di me tuentur, dis pietas mea

et Musa cordi est; hinc tibi copia

manabit ad plenum benigno

ruris honorum opulenta cornu.

Hic in reducta valle Caniculae

vitabis aestus, et fide Teia

dices laborantis in uno

Penelopen vitreamque Circen;

hic innocentis pocula Lesbii

duces sub umbra, nec Semeleius

cum Marte confundet Thyoneus

proelia, nec metues protervum

suspecta Cyrum, ne male dispari

incontinentis iniciat manus

et scindat haerentem coronam

crinibus immeritamque vestem.

Swift Faunus often exchanges

pleasant Lucretilus for Lycaeus and

always wards off the summer heat and

rainy winds from my goats.

The wandering wives of smelly husbands

harmlessly search through the safe forest

for the hidden strawberry trees and thyme,

the kids fear neither green serpents

nor Martial wolves,

whenever, Tyndareus, the sloping Ustican valley

and smooth stones have echoed

with the sweet pipe.

The gods watch over me, my piety

is dear to the gods and Muses; here, for you,

a rich plenty will flow to the full

from an abundant horn of the honors of the country.

Here in a valley set back you will avoid

the heat of Canicula , and on a Tean string

you will speak of those in distress for one man,

Penelope and glassy Circes;

here you will slowly drink cups of harmless

Lesbian wine under the shade, neither will

Thyoneus son of Semele pour out battles

with Mars, nor will you being suspected

fear headstrong Cyrus, lest he throws

a violent hand on you badly unequal

and tears the crown sticking to the hairs

and the undeserving garment.