Horace, Ode 1.38

Persicos odi, puer, apparatus;

displicent nexae philyra coronae;

mitte sectari rosa quo locorum

sera moretur.

Simplici myrto nihil allabores

sedulus curo: neque te ministrum

dedecet myrtus neque me sub arta

vite bibentem.

I hate Persian trappings, slave;

the crowns tied with lime-tree displease me;

do not pursue where of all places the

late rose delays.

I desire that you not take the trouble to

add anything to simple myrtle: nor is myrtle

unsuitable for you, attending, or for me, drinking

under a narrow vine.

Horace, Ode 2.14

Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,

labuntur anni, nec pietas moram

rugis et instanti senectae

adferet indomitaeque morti;

non, si trecenis, quotquot eunt dies,

amice, places illacrimabilem

Plutona tauris, qui ter amplum

Geryonen Tityonque tristi

compescit unda - scilicet omnibus,

quicumque terrae munere vescimur,

enaviganda, sive reges

sive inopes erimus coloni.

Frustra cruento Marte carebimus

fractisque rauci fluctibus Hadriae,

frustra per autumnos nocentem

corporibus metuemus Austrum.

Visendus ater flumine languido

Cocytos errans et Danai genus

infame damnatusque longi

Sisyphus Aeolides laboris.

LInquenda tellus et domus et placens

uxor, neque harum quas colis arborum

te praeter invisas cupressos

ulla brevem dominum sequetur.

Absumet heres Caecuba dignior

servata centum clavibus et mero

tinguet pavimentum superbo

pontificum potiore cenis.

Alas! Postumus, Postumus the swift years

slip away, nor does piety bring delay for

wrinkles and looming old age

and fierce death;

not even if, however many days go by, my friend,

you may appease pitiless Pluto with three hundred

bulls at a time, he who restrains triply large

Geryon and Tityos with the gloomy

water - which surely must be sailed by all,

whoever of us enjoys a gift of earth,

whether we will be kings

or poor farmers.

In vain, we will abstain from bloody Mars

and the broken waves of the raucous Adriatic sea,

in vain through autumn we will fear the

south wind harmful to our bodies.

The dark Cocytos river wandering with a sluggish

stream must be visited and the notorious family

of Danaus and Sisyphus Aeolides

condemned to a long labor.

Your land and your home and your pleasing

wife must be abandoned, and nor will any of

the these trees which you maintain follow you,

a short-lived master, except the hated cypresses.

Your more worthy heir will waste your Caecuban wine

guarded by a hundred keys and he will stain

the pavement with arrogant wine, better

than the dinner of the high priests.

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.

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.

Horace, Ode 1.20

Vile potabis modicis Sabinum

cantharis, Graeca quod ego ipse testa

conditum levi, datus in theatro

cum tibi plausus,

care Maecenas eques, ut paterni

fluminis ripae simul et iocosa

redderet laudes tibi Vaticani

montis imago.

Caecubum et prelo domitam Caleno

tu bibes uvam: mea nec Falernae

temperant vites neque Formiani

pocula colles.

You will drink cheap Sabine wine from

plain cups, which I myself sealed, put into

Greek jars, when applause had been given

to you in the theater,

dear knight Maecenas, as at the same time

the banks of the ancestral river and the funny

echo of the Vaticanus mountain return

praises to you.

You may drink Caecuban wine and the grape

crushed with a Calenian wine-press; neither

Falernian vines nor Formian wines

flavor my cups.

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.

Horace, Ode 1.37

Nunc est bibendum, nun pede libero

pulsanda tellus, nunc Saliaribus

ornare pulvinar deorum

tempus erat dapibus, sodales.

Antehac nefas depromere Caecubum

cellis avitis, dum Capitolio

regina dementis ruinas,

funus et imperio parabat

contaminato cum grege turpium

morbo virorum, quidlibet impotens

sperare fortunaque dulci

ebria. Sed minuit furorem

vix una sospes navis ab ignibus,

mentemque lymphatam Mareotico

redegit in veros timores

Caesar, ab Italia volantem

remis adurgens, accipiter velut

mollis coumbas aut leporem citus

venator in campis nivalis

Haemoniae, daret ut catenis

fatale monstrum. Quae generosius

perire quaerens nec muliebriter

expavit ensem nec latentis

classe cita reparavit oras;

ausa et iacentem visere regiam

vultu sereno, fortis et asperas

tractare serpentes, ut atrum

corpore combiberet venenum,

deliberata morte ferocior;

saevis LIburnis scilicet invidens

privata deduci superbo

non humilis mulier triumpho.

Now there must be drinking, now the earth

is about to be beat with free foot, now was

the time to furnish the couch of the gods

with feasts of the Salii, companions.

Before this, it was a sin to draw out wine

from ancestral wine cellars, while the

queen of demented people was preparing

the destruction and fall from power for the Capitoline,

with the polluted herd of men

shameful with sickness, mad enough to hope

for anything at all and drunk with sweet

fortune. But one ship

safe from the fires scarcely diminished her fury,

and Caesar drove back the mind soaked

with Mareotic wine to true fears,

pursuing with oars

the flying one from Italy, just as a hawk

pursues the soft doves or the swift hunter

pursues the rabbit in the fields of snowy

Thessaly, to throw into chains

the deadly monster. But she more nobly

seeking to die neither became frightened of

the sword in a womanly way nor prepared

the hidden shores with a quick fleet;

She dared to visit the lying city

with a calm face, strongly brought out the

bitter serpents, so that she could swallow

the black poison into her body,

more ferocious in a deliberate death;

certainly begrudging the savage Liburnians

to be led as a private citizen in an arrogant triumph,

not a humble woman.

Horace, Ode 1.7

Laudabunt alii claram Rhodon aut Mytilenen

aut Epheson bimarisve Corinthi

moenia vel Baccho Thebas vel Apolline Delphos

insignis aut Thessala Tempe.

Sunt quibus unum opus est intactae Palladis urbem

carmine perpetuo celebrare et

undique decerptam fronti praeponere olivam;

plurimus in Iuonis honorem

aptum diceet equis Argos ditisque Mycenas:

me nec tam patiens Lacedaemon

nec tam Larisae percussit campus optimae,

quam domus Albuneae resonantis

et praeceps Anio ac Tiburni lucus et uda

mobilibus pomaria rivis.

Albus ut obscuro deterget nubila caelo

saepe Notus neque parturit imbris

perpetuos, sic tu sapiens finire memento

tristitiam vitaeque labores

molli, Plance, mero, seu te fulgentia signis

castra tenent seu densa tenebit

Tiburis umbra tui. Teucer Salamina patremque

cum fugeret, tamen uda Lyaeo

tempora populea fertur vinxisse corona,

sic tristis affatus amicos:

"Quo nos cumque feret melior fortuna parente,

ibimus, o socii comitesque.

Nil desperandum Teucro duce et auspice Teucro;

certus enim promisit Apollo

ambiguam tellure nova Salamina futuram.

O fortes peioraque passi

mecum saepe viri, nunc vino pellite curas;

cras ingens iterabimus aequor.

Others will praise famous Rhodes or Mytilene

or Ephesus or the walls of Corinth between

two seas or Thebes famous for Bacchus or Delphi

famous for Apollo or Thessaly famous for Tempe.

There are those for whom it is one work to celebrate with

perpetual song the city of untouched Athena and

to place in front of their forehead a plucked olive from all sides;

many a one will offer Greek horses and

Mycenean riches suitable for the honor of Juno;

neither so much as hardy Lacedaemon

nor so much as the field of fertile Larisa has struck me

as the house of resonating Albunea

and steep Anio and the sacred grove of the Tibur and

the orchards wet with moving rivers.

White Notus often scatters the clouds from the dim

sky and does not bring forth clouds of perpetual

rain, thus you be wise and remember to finish

the sadness and troubles of life

with mellow wine, Plancus, whether the gleaming camps

represent you with signs or the dense shadow

of your Tibur will hold you. When Teucer fled from Salamina

and his father, nevertheless it is said that he

bound his temples soaked with wine with a poplar crown,

thus he spoke to his sad friends:

"Wherever a fortune better than my father will bear us,

we will go, oh friends and companions.

Do not despair with Teucer as leader and with Teucer as augur;

even sure Apollo promised

that there will be an ambiguous Salamina in a new land.

Oh strong men and men who have

often suffered worse with me, now drive our your cares with wine;

tomorrow we will resume (our voyage on) the vast sea."

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.