Horace, Ode 3.30

Exegi monumentum aere perennnius

regalique situ pyramidum altius,

quod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens

possit diruere aut innumerabilis

annorum series et fuga temporum.

Non omnis moriar multaque pars mei

vitabit Libitinam; usque ego postera

crescam laude recens. Dum Capitolium

scandet cum tacita virgine pontifex,

dicar, qua violens obstrepit Aufidus

et qua pauper aquae Daunus agrestium

regnavit populorum, ex humili potens,

princeps Aeolium carmen ad Italos

deduxisse modos. Sume superbiam

quaesitam meritis et mihi Delphica

lauro cinge volens, Melpomene, comam.

I have finished a monument more lasting than bronze

and higher than the royal structure of the pyramids,

which neither the destructive rain, nor wild Aquilo

is able to destroy, nor the countless

series of years and flight of ages.

I will not wholly die and a great part of me

will avoid Libitina; I will continuously arise

fresh with later praise. While a priest will climb

the Capitoline with a silent maiden,

I shall be spoken of where the violent Aufidus roars

and where Daunus, poor in water, ruled

a rural people, powerful from humble origin,

the first to have brought Aeolic song to

Italian meters. Accept the proud honor

obtained by your merits and with the Delphic

laural, Melpomene, gladly encircle my hair.

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 1.11

Tu ne quaesieris - scire nefas - quem mihi, quem tibi

finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios

temptaris numeros. Ut melius quicquid erit pati,

seu pluris hiemes, seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,

quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare

Tyrrhenum. Sapias, vina liques, et spatio brevi

spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerit invida

aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

You should not seek - to know is a sin - which end (of life)

the gods have given to me, which end to you, Leuconoe, nor

should you test Babylonian numbers. How much better to suffer

whatever will be, whether Jupiter assigns many winters, or the last (day),

which now the Tyrrhenum sea weakens with the opposite

pumice (stones). Be wise, strain the wine, and cut back hope

for a long life in a short time. While we talk, envious time will

flee: seize the day, trusting as little as possible to the future.