The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace Part 13

IMPIOS PARRAE.

When guilt goes forth, let lapwings shrill, And dogs and foxes great with young, And wolves from far Lanuvian hill, Give clamorous tongue: Across the roadway dart the snake, Frightening, like arrow loosed from string, The horses. I, for friendship's sake, Watching each wing, Ere to his haunt, the stagnant marsh, The harbinger of tempest flies, Will call the raven, croaking harsh, From eastern skies.

Farewell!--and wheresoe'er you go, My Galatea, think of me: Let lefthand pie and roving crow Still leave you free.

But mark with what a front of fear Orion lowers. Ah! well I know How Hadria glooms, how falsely clear The west-winds blow.

Let foemen's wives and children feel The gathering south-wind's angry roar, The black wave's crash, the thunder-peal, The quivering sh.o.r.e.

So to the bull Europa gave Her beauteous form, and when she saw The monstrous deep, the yawning grave, Grew pale with awe.

That morn of meadow-flowers she thought, Weaving a crown the nymphs to please: That gloomy night she look'd on nought But stars and seas.

Then, as in hundred-citied Crete She landed,--"O my sire!" she said, "O childly duty! pa.s.sion's heat Has struck thee dead.

Whence came I? death, for maiden's shame, Were little. Do I wake to weep My sin? or am I pure of blame, And is it sleep From dreamland brings a form to trick My senses? Which was best? to go Over the long, long waves, or pick The flowers in blow?

O, were that monster made my prize, How would I strive to wound that brow, How tear those horns, my frantic eyes Adored but now!

Shameless I left my father's home; Shameless I cheat the expectant grave; O heaven, that naked I might roam In lions' cave!

Now, ere decay my bloom devour Or thin the richness of my blood, Fain would I fall in youth's first flower, The tigers' food.

Hark! 'tis my father--Worthless one!

What, yet alive? the oak is nigh.

'Twas well you kept your maiden zone, The noose to tie.

Or if your choice be that rude pike, New barb'd with death, leap down and ask The wind to bear you. Would you like The bondmaid's task, You, child of kings, a master's toy, A mistress' slave?'" Beside her, lo!

Stood Venus smiling, and her boy With unstrung bow.

Then, when her laughter ceased, "Have done With fume and fret," she cried, "my fair; That odious bull will give you soon His horns to tear.

You know not you are Jove's own dame: Away with sobbing; be resign'd To greatness: you shall give your name To half mankind."

XXVIII.

FESTO QUID POTIUS.

Neptune's feast-day! what should man Think first of doing? Lyde mine, be bold, Broach the treasured Caecuban, And batter Wisdom in her own stronghold.

Now the noon has pa.s.s'd the full, Yet sure you deem swift Time has made a halt, Tardy as you are to pull Old Bibulus' wine-jar from its sleepy vault.

I will take my turn and sing Neptune and Nereus' train with locks of green; You shall warble to the string Latona and her Cynthia's arrowy sheen.

Hers our latest song, who sways Cnidos and Cyclads, and to Paphos goes With her swans, on holydays; Night too shall claim the homage music owes.

XXIX.

TYRRHENA REGUM.

Heir of Tyrrhenian kings, for you A mellow cask, unbroach'd as yet, Maecenas mine, and roses new, And fresh-drawn oil your locks to wet, Are waiting here. Delay not still, Nor gaze on Tibur, never dried, And sloping AEsule, and the hill Of Telegon the parricide.

O leave that pomp that can but tire, Those piles, among the clouds at home; Cease for a moment to admire The smoke, the wealth, the noise of Rome!

In change e'en luxury finds a zest: The poor man's supper, neat, but spare, With no gay couch to seat the guest, Has smooth'd the rugged brow of care.

Now glows the Ethiop maiden's sire; Now Procyon rages all ablaze; The Lion maddens in his ire, As suns bring back the sultry days: The shepherd with his weary sheep Seeks out the streamlet and the trees, Silva.n.u.s' lair: the still banks sleep Untroubled by the wandering breeze.

You ponder on imperial schemes, And o'er the city's danger brood: Bactrian and Serian haunt your dreams, And Tanais, toss'd by inward feud.

The issue of the time to be Heaven wisely hides in blackest night, And laughs, should man's anxiety Transgress the bounds of man's short sight.

Control the present: all beside Flows like a river seaward borne, Now rolling on its placid tide, Now whirling ma.s.sy trunks uptorn, And waveworn crags, and farms, and stock, In chaos blent, while hill and wood Reverberate to the enormous shock, When savage rains the tranquil flood Have stirr'd to madness. Happy he, Self-centred, who each night can say, "My life is lived: the morn may see A clouded or a sunny day: That rests with Jove: but what is gone, He will not, cannot turn to nought; Nor cancel, as a thing undone, What once the flying hour has brought."

Fortune, who loves her cruel game, Still bent upon some heartless whim, Shifts her caresses, fickle dame, Now kind to me, and now to him: She stays; 'tis well: but let her shake Those wings, her presents I resign, Cloak me in native worth, and take Chaste Poverty undower'd for mine.

Though storms around my vessel rave, I will not fall to craven prayers, Nor bargain by my vows to save My Cyprian and Sidonian wares, Else added to the insatiate main.

Then through the wild Aegean roar The breezes and the Brethren Twain Shall waft my little boat ash.o.r.e.

x.x.x.

EXEGI MONUMENTUM.

And now 'tis done: more durable than bra.s.s My monument shall be, and raise its head O'er royal pyramids: it shall not dread Corroding rain or angry Boreas, Nor the long lapse of immemorial time.

I shall not wholly die: large residue Shall 'scape the queen of funerals. Ever new My after fame shall grow, while pontiffs climb With silent maids the Capitolian height.

"Born," men will say, "where Aufidus is loud, Where Daunus, scant of streams, beneath him bow'd The rustic tribes, from dimness he wax'd bright, First of his race to wed the Aeolian lay To notes of Italy." Put glory on, My own Melpomene, by genius won, And crown me of thy grace with Delphic bay.

BOOK IV.

I.

INTERMISSA, VENUS.

Yet again thou wak'st the flame That long had slumber'd! Spare me, Venus, spare!

Trust me, I am not the same As in the reign of Cinara, kind and fair.

Cease thy softening spells to prove On this old heart, by fifty years made hard, Cruel Mother of sweet Love!

Haste, where gay youth solicits thy regard.

With thy purple cygnets fly To Paullus' door, a seasonable guest; There within hold revelry, There light thy flame in that congenial breast.

He, with birth and beauty graced, The trembling client's champion, ne'er tongue-tied, Master of each manly taste, Shall bear thy conquering banners far and wide.

Let him smile in triumph gay, True heart, victorious over lavish hand, By the Alban lake that day 'Neath citron roof all marble shalt thou stand: Incense there and fragrant spice With odorous fumes thy nostrils shall salute; Blended notes thine ear entice, The lyre, the pipe, the Berecyntine flute: Graceful youths and maidens bright Shall twice a day thy tuneful praise resound, While their feet, so fair and white, In Salian measure three times beat the ground.

I can relish love no more, Nor flattering hopes that tell me hearts are true, Nor the revel's loud uproar, Nor fresh-wreathed flowerets, bathed in vernal dew.

Ah! but why, my Ligurine, Steal trickling tear-drops down my wasted cheek?

Wherefore halts this tongue of mine, So eloquent once, so faltering now and weak?

Now I hold you in my chain, And clasp you close, all in a nightly dream; Now, still dreaming, o'er the plain I chase you; now, ah cruel! down the stream.

II.

PINDARUM QUISQUIS.

Who fain at Pindar's flight would aim, On waxen wings, Iulus, he Soars heavenward, doom'd to give his name To some new sea.

Pindar, like torrent from the steep Which, swollen with rain, its banks o'erflows, With mouth unfathomably deep, Foams, thunders, glows, All worthy of Apollo's bay, Whether in dithyrambic roll Pouring new words he burst away Beyond control, Or G.o.ds and G.o.d-born heroes tell, Whose arm with righteous death could tame Grim Centaurs, tame Chimaeras fell, Out-breathing flame, Or bid the boxer or the steed In deathless pride of victory live, And dower them with a n.o.bler meed Than sculptors give, Or mourn the bridegroom early torn From his young bride, and set on high Strength, courage, virtue's golden morn, Too good to die.