Horace, Ode 2.20

Non usitata nec tenui ferar

penna biformis per liquidum aethera

vates, neque in terris morabor

longius invidiaque maior

urbes relinquam. Non ego, pauperum

sanguis parentum, non ego, quem vocas,

dilecte Maecenas, obibo

nec Stygia cohibebor unda.

Iam iam residunt cruribus asperae

pelles, et album mutor in alitem

superne, nascunturque leves

per digitos umerosque plumae.

Iam Daedaleo notior Icaro

visam gementis litora Bosphori

Syrtisque Gaetulas canorus

ales Hyperboreosque campos.

Me Colchus et, qui dissimulat metum

Marsae cohortis, Dacus et ultimi

nosent Geloni, me peritus

discet Hiber Rhodanique potor.

Absint inani funere neniae

luctusque turpes et querimoniae;

compesce clamorem ac sequlcri

mitte supervacuos honors.

A two-formed poet, I will be borne through the

clear sky on wings neither slight nor

common, nor will I delay in lands

for a long time and greater than envy

I will abandon the cities. Not I, the family of

poor parents, not I, whom you send for,

dear Maecenas, I will not die

nor will I be restrained by a Stygian wave.

Now already the rough skins shrink

on my legs, and I am changed to a white bird

above, and light feathers spring forth

on my fingers and shoulders.

Now, more famous than Icarus son of Daedalus,

I, a melodious bird, will visit the shores of the

groaning Bosphorus and Syrtis and Gaetulia and

the Hyperborean fields.

The Colchians will know me, who hide their

fear of the Marsian friend, and the Dacians and the

farthest Gelonians will know me, the skilled

Spaniard and the drinker of the Rhone will hear of me.

The funeral dirges and shameful grievings and

complaints are absent from the empty funeral;

restrain the noise and dismiss the unnecessary

honors of the tomb.

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 1.38

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 2.13

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 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 2.12

Nolis longa ferae bella Numantiae

nec durum Hannibalem nec Siculum mare

Poeno purpureeum sanguine mollibus

aptari citharae modis,

nec saevos Lapithas et nimium mero

Hylaeum domitosque Herculea manu

Telluris iuvenes, unde periculum

fulgens contremuit domus

Saturni veteris; tuque pedestribus

dices historiis proelia Caesaris,

Maecenas, melius ductaque per vias

regum colla minacium.

Me dulcis dominae Musa Licymniae

cantus, me voluit dicere lucidum

fulgentis oculos et bene mutuis

fidum pectus amoribus;

quam nec ferre pedem dedecuit choris

nec certare ioco nec dare bracchia

ludentem nitidis virginibus sacro

Dianae celebris die.

Num tu quae tenuit dives Achaemenes

aut pinguis Phyrgiae Mygdonias opes

permutare velis crine Licymniae,

plenas aut Arabum domos,

cum flagrantia detorquet ad oscula

cervicem, aut facili saevitia negat,

quae poscente magis gaudeat eripi,

interdum rapere occupet?

You would not want the long wars of wild Numantia

nor hard Hannibal nor the Sicilian sea

to be made purple by Punic blood

by a lyre with sweet measures,

nor the savage Lapiths and Hylaeus with too much

wine and the sons of Earth conquered by

Herculean hand, whence the house

of ancient Saturn trembles at

the flashing danger; and you, Maecenas, can better

tell the battles of Caesar in historical prose,

and the necks of threatening kings led

through the streets.

The Muse wished me to say the sweet songs

to mistress Licymnia, to speak (of/about) her eyes brightly

shining and her heart well faithful

to mutual loves;

she who had not been unsuited to bear her foot with the choruses

nor to fight with a joke nor to give her arms,

playing with the shining maidens on the sacred

day of festive Diana.

For would you wish to exchange the riches which

Achaemenes holds or the Mygdonian wealth of

fertile Phrygia for a hair of Licymnia,

or the full Arabic homes,

when she bends her neck to your burning

kisses, or she refuses, with easy rage,

the kisses which, more than a woman demanding,

she rejoices to be snatched, and sometimes she attacks to snatch?

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.