The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace Part 8

XV.

JAM PAUCA ARATRO.

Few roods of ground the piles we raise Will leave to plough; ponds wider spread Than Lucrine lake will meet the gaze On every side; the plane unwed Will top the elm; the violet-bed, The myrtle, each delicious sweet, On olive-grounds their scent will shed, Where once were fruit-trees yielding meat; Thick bays will screen the midday range Of fiercest suns. Not such the rule Of Romulus, and Cato sage, And all the bearded, good old school.

Each Roman's wealth was little worth, His country's much; no colonnade For private pleasance wooed the North With cool "prolixity of shade."

None might the casual sod disdain To roof his home; a town alone, At public charge, a sacred fane Were honour'd with the pomp of stone.

XVI.

OTIUM DIVOS.

For ease, in wide Aegean caught, The sailor prays, when clouds are hiding The moon, nor shines of starlight aught For seaman's guiding: For ease the Mede, with quiver gay: For ease rude Thrace, in battle cruel: Can purple buy it, Grosphus? Nay, Nor gold, nor jewel.

No pomp, no lictor clears the way 'Mid rabble-routs of troublous feelings, Nor quells the cares that sport and play Round gilded ceilings.

More happy he whose modest board His father's well-worn silver brightens; No fear, nor l.u.s.t for sordid h.o.a.rd, His light sleep frightens.

Why bend our bows of little span?

Why change our homes for regions under Another sun? What exiled man From self can sunder?

Care climbs the bark, and trims the sail, Curst fiend! nor troops of horse can 'scape her, More swift than stag, more swift than gale That drives the vapour.

Blest in the present, look not forth On ills beyond, but soothe each bitter With slow, calm smile. No suns on earth Unclouded glitter.

Achilles' light was quench'd at noon; A long decay t.i.thonus minish'd; My hours, it may be, yet will run When yours are finish'd.

For you Sicilian heifers low, Bleat countless flocks; for you are neighing Proud coursers; Afric purples glow For your arraying With double dyes; a small domain, The soul that breathed in Grecian harping, My portion these; and high disdain Of ribald carping.

XVII.

CUR ME QUERELIS.

Why rend my heart with that sad sigh?

It cannot please the G.o.ds or me That you, Maecenas, first should die, My pillar of prosperity.

Ah! should I lose one half my soul Untimely, can the other stay Behind it? Life that is not whole, Is THAT as sweet? The self-same day Shall crush us twain; no idle oath Has Horace sworn; whene'er you go, We both will travel, travel both The last dark journey down below.

No, not Chimaera's fiery breath, Nor Gyas, could he rise again, Shall part us; Justice, strong as death, So wills it; so the Fates ordain.

Whether 'twas Libra saw me born Or angry Scorpio, lord malign Of natal hour, or Capricorn, The tyrant of the western brine, Our planets sure with concord strange Are blended. You by Jove's blest power Were s.n.a.t.c.h'd from out the baleful range Of Saturn, and the evil hour Was stay'd, when rapturous benches full Three times the auspicious thunder peal'd; Me the curst trunk, that smote my skull, Had slain; but Faunus, strong to shield The friends of Mercury, check'd the blow In mid descent. Be sure to pay The victims and the fane you owe; Your bard a humbler lamb will slay.

XVIII.

NON EBUR.

Carven ivory have I none; No golden cornice in my dwelling shines; Pillars choice of Libyan stone Upbear no architrave from Attic mines; 'Twas not mine to enter in To Attalus' broad realms, an unknown heir, Nor for me fair clients spin Laconian purples for their patron's wear.

Truth is mine, and Genius mine; The rich man comes, and knocks at my low door: Favour'd thus, I ne'er repine, Nor weary out indulgent Heaven for more: In my Sabine homestead blest, Why should I further tax a generous friend?

Suns are hurrying suns a-west, And newborn moons make speed to meet their end.

You have hands to square and hew Vast marble-blocks, hard on your day of doom, Ever building mansions new, Nor thinking of the mansion of the tomb.

Now you press on ocean's bound, Where waves on Baiae beat, as earth were scant; Now absorb your neighbour's ground, And tear his landmarks up, your own to plant.

Hedges set round clients' farms Your avarice tramples; see, the outcasts fly, Wife and husband, in their arms Their fathers' G.o.ds, their squalid family.

Yet no hall that wealth e'er plann'd Waits you more surely than the wider room Traced by Death's yet greedier hand.

Why strain so far? you cannot leap the tomb.

Earth removes the impartial sod Alike for beggar and for monarch's child: Nor the slave of h.e.l.l's dark G.o.d Convey'd Prometheus back, with bribe beguiled.

Pelops he and Pelops' sire Holds, spite of pride, in close captivity; Beggars, who of labour tire, Call'd or uncall'd, he hears and sets them free.

XIX.

BACCHUM IN REMOTIS.

Bacchus I saw in mountain glades Retired (believe it, after years!) Teaching his strains to Dryad maids, While goat-hoof'd satyrs p.r.i.c.k'd their ears.

Evoe! my eyes with terror glare; My heart is revelling with the G.o.d; 'Tis madness! Evoe! spare, O spare, Dread wielder of the ivied rod!

Yes, I may sing the Thyiad crew, The stream of wine, the sparkling rills That run with milk, and honey-dew That from the hollow trunk distils; And I may sing thy consort's crown, New set in heaven, and Pentheus' hall With ruthless ruin thundering down, And proud Lycurgus' funeral.

Thou turn'st the rivers, thou the sea; Thou, on far summits, moist with wine, Thy Bacchants' tresses harmlessly Dost knot with living serpent-twine.

Thou, when the giants, threatening wrack, Were clambering up Jove's citadel, Didst hurl o'erweening Rhoetus back, In tooth and claw a lion fell.

Who knew thy feats in dance and play Deem'd thee belike for war's rough game Unmeet: but peace and battle-fray Found thee, their centre, still the same.

Grim Cerberus wagg'd his tail to see Thy golden horn, nor dream'd of wrong, But gently fawning, follow'd thee, And lick'd thy feet with triple tongue.

XX.

NON USITATA.

No vulgar wing, nor weakly plied, Shall bear me through the liquid sky; A two-form'd bard, no more to bide Within the range of envy's eye 'Mid haunts of men. I, all ungraced By gentle blood, I, whom you call Your friend, Maecenas, shall not taste Of death, nor chafe in Lethe's thrall.

E'en now a rougher skin expands Along my legs: above I change To a white bird; and o'er my hands And shoulders grows a plumage strange: Fleeter than Icarus, see me float O'er Bosporus, singing as I go, And o'er Gastulian sands remote, And Hyperborean fields of snow; By Dacian horde, that masks its fear Of Marsic steel, shall I be known, And furthest Scythian: Spain shall hear My warbling, and the banks of Rhone.

No dirges for my fancied death; No weak lament, no mournful stave; All clamorous grief were waste of breath, And vain the tribute of o grave.

BOOK III.

I.

ODI PROFANUM.