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{{TextQuality|75%}}{{header
{{header
|author=Horace
|author=Horace
|title=[[The Odes]]
|title=[[The Odes]]
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|previous=[[The Odes/Book II|Book II]]
|previous=[[The Odes/Book II|Book II]]
|section= Book III
|section= Book III
|notes=Translated by [[A. S. Kline]]
|notes=
}}
}}
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<div class="verse">
<div class="verse">


=== Book III ===
#[[The Odes/Book III/1|Odi Profanum]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/1|Odi Profanum]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/2|Dulce Et Decorum Est]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/2|Dulce Et Decorum Est]]
Line 32: Line 35:
#[[The Odes/Book III/21|Praise Of Wine]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/21|Praise Of Wine]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/22|To Diana]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/22|To Diana]]
=== BkIII:XXIII Pure Hands ===
#[[The Odes/Book III/23|Pure Hands]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/24|Destructive Wealth]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/25|Bacchanalian Song]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/26|Enough]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/27|Europa]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/28|For Neptune]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/29|Fortune]]
#[[The Odes/Book III/30|Aere Perennius]]




   
   
Phidyle, my country girl, if you raise your
=== Index of First Lines ===


upturned palms to heaven, at the new-born moon,


if you placate the Lares with corn
from this year’s harvest, with a greedy pig:
your fruiting vines won’t suffer the destructive
southerlies, nor your crops the killing mildew,
nor will the young of the flock be born
in that sickly season, heavy with fruit.
Since the destined victim, grazing, on snowy
Algidus, amongst the oak and ilex trees,
or fattening in the Alban meadows,
will stain the axes of the priest with blood:
there’s no need for you to try and influence
the gods, with repeated sacrifice of sheep
while you crown their tiny images
with rosemary, and the brittle myrtle.
If pure hands have touched the altar, even though
they’ve not gratified with lavish sacrifice,
they’ll mollify hostile Penates,
with the sacred corn, and the dancing grain.
=== BkIII:XXIV Destructive Wealth ===
Though you’re richer than the untouched
riches of Araby, than wealthy India,
and you fill the land, and inshore
waters, with your deposits of builders’ rubble:
if dread Necessity fixes
her adamantine nails in your highest rooftops,
you’ll not free your spirit from fear,
nor free your very being from the noose of death.
Better to live like Scythians
in the Steppes, whose wagons haul their movable homes,
that’s custom, or the fierce Getae,
whose unallocated acres produce their fruits,
their harvests of rye, in common,
where cultivation’s not decided for more than
a year, and when one turn is done,
it’s carried on by other hands, as a duty.
There, as their own, the unselfish
women raise those children who have lost their mothers:
and the richly dowered wife never
rules her husband, or believes in shining lovers.
Their greatest dowry’s their parents’
virtue, and their own chastity, which is careful
of another’s husband, in pure
loyalty, sin is wrong and death’s its penalty.
O whoever would end impious
killing, and civil disorder, and would desire
to have ‘City Father’ inscribed
on their statues, let them be braver, and rein in
unbridled licence, and win fame
among posterity: since we, alas, for shame,
filled with envy, hate chaste virtue,
and only seek it when it’s hidden from our eyes.
What use are sad lamentations,
if crime is never suppressed by its punishment?
What use are all these empty laws
without the behaviour that should accompany them?
if neither those parts of the Earth
enclosed by heat, nor those far confines of the North,
snow frozen solid on the ground,
deter the trader, if cunning sailors conquer
the stormy seas, if poverty,
is considered a great disgrace, and directs us
to do and to bear everything,
and abandon the arduous paths of virtue?
Let’s send our jewels, our precious
stones, our destructive gold, to the Capitol, while
the crowd applauds, and raises its strident clamour,
or ship them to the nearest sea,
as causes of our deepest ills,
if we truly repent of all our wickedness.
Let the source of our perverted
greed be lost, and then let our inadequate minds
be trained in more serious things.
The inexperienced noble youth is unskilled
at staying in the saddle, he
fears to hunt, and he’s much better at playing games,
whether you order him to fool
with a Greek hoop, or you prefer forbidden dice,
while his father’s perjured trust cheats
his partner and his friends, hurrying to amass
money for his unworthy heir.
While it’s true that in this way his ill-gotten gains
increase, yet there’s always something
lacking in a fortune forever incomplete.
===BkIII:XXV Bacchanalian Song ===
Where are you taking me, Bacchus,
now I’m full of you? To what caves or groves, driven,
swiftly, by new inspiration?
In what caverns will I be heard planning to set
illustrious Caesar’s lasting
glory among the stars, in the councils of Jove?
I’ll sing a recent achievement,
not yet sung by other lips. So does the sleepless
Bacchante, stand in amazement
on a mountain-ridge, gazing at Hebrus, at Thrace,
shining with snow, at Rhodope,
trodden by barbarous feet, even as I like
to wander gazing, at river
banks, and echoing groves. O master of Naiads,
of Bacchae owning the power
to uproot the tallest ash-trees, with their bare hands,
I’ll sing nothing trivial, no
humble measure, nothing that dies. O, Lenaeus,
the danger of following a god
is sweet, wreathing my brow with green leaves of the vine.
=== BkIII:XXVI Enough ===
I was suited to sweethearts till now, and performed
my service, not without glory: but now this wall
that protects the left flank of Venus,
the girl from the sea, shall have my weapons,
and hold up the lyre that has finished with warfare.
Here, O here, place the shining torches, and set up
the crowbars, and set up the axes,
so that they menace opposite doorways.
O goddess, you who possess rich Cyprus, O queen,
who holds Memphis, that’s free of Sithonian snows,
touch, just for once, arrogant Chloë,
touch her, just once, with your whip, lifted high.
=== BkIII:XXVII Europa ===
Let the wicked be led by omens of screeching
from owls, by pregnant dogs, or a grey-she wolf,
hurrying down from Lanuvian meadows,
or a fox with young:
May a snake disturb the journey they’ve started,
terrifying the ponies like an arrow
flashing across the road: but I far-seeing
augur, with prayer
for him whom I’m fearful for, out of the east
I’ll call up the ominous raven, before
the bird that divines the imminent showers
seeks standing water.
Galatea, wherever you choose to live
may you be happy, and live in thought of me:
no woodpecker on your left, or errant crow
to bar your going.
But see, with what storms flickering Orion
is setting. I know how the Adriatic’s
black gulf can be, and how the bright westerly
wind commits its sins.
Let the wives and children of our enemy
feel the blind force of the rising southerly,
and the thunder of the dark waters, the shores
trembling at the blow.
So, Europa entrusted her snow-white form
to the bull’s deceit, and the brave girl grew pale,
at the sea alive with monsters, the dangers
of the deep ocean.
Leaving the meadow, where, lost among flowers,
she was weaving a garland owed to the Nymphs,
now, in the luminous night, she saw nothing
but water and stars.
As soon as she reached the shores of Crete, mighty
with its hundred cities, she cried: ‘O father,
I’ve lost the name of daughter, my piety
conquered by fury.
Where have I come from, where am I going? One
death is too few for a virgin’s sin. Am I
awake, weeping a vile act, or free from guilt,
mocked by a phantom,
that fleeing, false, from the ivory gate brings
only a dream? Is it not better to pick
fresh flowers than to go travelling over
the breadths of the sea?
If anyone now could deliver that foul
beast to my anger, I’d attempt to wound it
with steel, and shatter the horns of that monster,
the one I once loved.
I’m shameless, I’ve abandoned my country’s gods,
I’m shameless, I keep Orcus waiting. O if
one of the gods can hear, I wish I might walk
naked with lions!
Before vile leanness hollows my lovely cheeks,
and the juices ebb in this tender victim,
while I am still beautiful, I’ll seek to be
food for the tigers.
My absent father urges me on: ‘Why wait
to die, worthless Europa? Happily you
can hang by the neck from this ash-tree: use
the sash that’s with you.
Or if cliffs and the sharpened rocks attract you,
as a means of death, put your trust in the speed
of the wind, unless you’d rather be carding
some mistress’s wool,
you, of royal blood, be handed over, as
concubine to a barbarous queen.’ She moaned:
Venus was laughing, treacherously, with her
son, his bow unstrung.
When she’d toyed enough with her, she said: ‘Refrain
from anger and burning passion, when the bull,
you hate, yields you his horns again, so that you
can start to wound them.
Don’t you know you’re invincible Jupiter’s
wife. Stop your sobbing, and learn to carry your
good fortune well: a continent of the Earth
will be named for you.
=== BkIII:XXVIII For Neptune ===
What better thing is there to do,
on Neptune’s festive day? Lyde, brisk now, bring up
Caecuban wine, from my reserve,
and apply some pressure to wisdom’s defences.
You can see the day is dying,
and yet, as if the flying hours were standing still,
you’re slow to fetch from the cellar
that wine-jar put down in Bibulus’ Consulship.
We’ll sing, one after the other,
I, of Neptune, I, the Nereids’ sea-green hair:
you reply on the curving lyre
with Latona, and Cynthia’s speeding arrows:
we’ll end the song with she who holds
Cnidos, the shining Cyclades, she who visits
Paphos: Venus, drawn by her swans:
and we’ll celebrate night too, with a fitting song.
=== BkIII:XXIX Fortune ===
Maecenas, son of Etruscan kings, a jar
of mellow wine, that nobody’s touched, awaits
you, at my house, and with rose-petals,
and balsam, for your hair, squeezed from the press.
Escape from what delays you: don’t always be
thinking of moist Tibur, and of Aefula’s
sloping fields, and of the towering heights
of Telegonus, who killed his father.
Forget the fastidiousness of riches,
and those efforts to climb to the lofty clouds,
stop being so amazed by the smoke,
and the wealth, and the noise, of thriving Rome.
A change usually pleases the rich: a meal
that’s simple beneath a poor man’s humble roof,
without the tapestries and purple,
smooths the furrows on a wrinkled forehead.
Already Cepheus, Andromeda’s bright
father, shows his hidden fires, and now Procyon
rages, and Leo’s furious stars,
as the sun returns with his parching days:
Now the shepherd, with his listless flock, searches
for the shade, and the stream and the thickets
of shaggy Silvanus, the silent banks
lack even the breath of a wandering breeze.
You’re worrying about state politics,
and, anxious about the City, you’re fretting
what the Seres, and Bactra, Cyrus
once ruled, and troublesome Don, are plotting.
The wise god buries the future’s outcome deep
in shadowy night, and smiles at those mortals
who are agitated far beyond
what’s sensible. Remember, with calmness,
reconcile yourself to what is: the rest is
carried along like a river, gliding now,
peacefully, in mid-stream, and down
to the Tuscan Sea, now rolling around
polished stones, uprooted trees, the flocks, and homes
together, with the echoes from the mountains,
and the neighbouring woods, while the wild
deluge stirs the peaceful tributaries.
He’s happy, he’s his own master, who can say
each day: ‘I’ve lived: tomorrow, the Father may
fill the heavens with darkening cloud,
or fill the sky with radiant sunshine:
yet he can’t render whatever is past as
null and void, he can never seek to alter,
or return and undo, whatever
the fleeting moment tosses behind it.
Fortune takes delight in her cruel business,
determined to play her extravagant games,
and she alters her fickle esteem,
now kind to me, and, now, to some other.
I praise her while she’s here: but if she flutters
her swift wings, I resign the gifts she gave, wrap
myself in virtue, and woo honest
Poverty, even though she’s no dowry.
When the masts are groaning in African gales,
it’s not for me to ask in wretched prayer,
that my Cyprian and Tyrian
wares should be saved entire not add new wealth
to the greedy sea: and then the light breezes,
Pollux, and Castor his brother, carry me
safely through the stormy Aegean,
all with the aid of my double-oared skiff.
=== BkIII:XXX Aere Perennius ===
I’ve raised a monument, more durable than bronze,
one higher than the Pyramids’ royal towers,
that no devouring rain, or fierce northerly gale,
has power to destroy: nor the immeasurable
succession of years, and the swift passage of time.
I’ll not utterly die, but a rich part of me,
will escape Persephone: and fresh with the praise
of posterity, I’ll rise, beyond. While the High
Priest, and the silent Virgin, climb the Capitol,
I’ll be famous, I, born of humble origin,
(from where wild Aufidus roars, and where Daunus once,
lacking in streams, ruled over a rural people)
as the first to re-create Aeolian song
in Italian verse. Melpomene, take pride,
in what has been earned by your merit, and, Muse,
willingly, crown my hair, with the Delphic laurel.
== Index of First Lines ==
I hate the vulgar crowd, and keep them away:5
Let the boy toughened by military service. 7
The passion of the public, demanding what9
O royal Calliope, come from heaven,12
We believe thunderous Jupiter rules the sky:15
Romans, though you’re guiltless, you’ll still expiate. 17
Why weep, Asterie, for Gyges, whom west winds. 19
You, an expert in prose in either language,21
‘While I was the man, dear to you,22
If you drank the water of furthest Don, Lyce,23
Mercury (since, taught by you, his master,24
Girls are wretched who can’t allow free play to love, or drown their cares. 26
O Bandusian fountain, brighter than crystal,27
O citizens, conquering Caesar is home. 28
O, dear wife of poor Ibycus,29
The towers made of bronze, and the doors made of oak,30
Aelius, noble descendant of ancient32
Faunus, the lover of Nymphs who are fleeing,33
You can tell me the years between. 34
Pyrrhus, you can’t see how dangerous it is. 35
Faithful wine-jar, born, with me, in Manlius’36
Virgin protectress of the mountain and the grove,37
Phidyle, my country girl, if you raise your38
Though you’re richer than the untouched. 39
Where are you taking me, Bacchus,42
I was suited to sweethearts till now, and performed. 43
Let the wicked be led by omens of screeching. 44
What better thing is there to do,47
Maecenas, son of Etruscan kings, a jar48
I’ve raised a monument, more durable than bronze,51
== Metres Used in Book III. ==
The number of syllables most commonly employed in each standard line of the verse is given. This may vary slightly for effect (two beats substituted for three etc.) in a given line.
Alcaic Strophe: 11 (5+6) twice, 9, 10   
used in Odes: 1-6,17,21,23,26,29
Sapphic and Adonic: 11(5+6) three times, 5
Odes: 8,11,14,18,20,22,27
First Asclepiadean: 12 (6+6) all lines
Ode: 30
Second Asclepiadean: 8, 12 (6+6), alternating
Odes: 9,15,19,24,25,28
Third Asclepiadean: 12 (6+6) three times, 8
Odes 10,16
Fourth Asclepiadean: 12 (6+6) twice, 7, 8
Odes: 7,13


=== Metres Used in Book III. ===
   
   


Fifth Asclepiadean: 16 (6+4+6) all lines
Odes: None in Book III
Alcmanic Strophe: 17 (7+10) or less, 11 or less, alternating
Odes: None in Book III
First Archilochian: 17 (7+10) or less, 7 alternating
Odes: None in Book III
Fourth Archilochian Strophe: 18 (7+11) or less, 11 (5+6) alternating
Odes: None in Book III
Second Sapphic Strophe: 7, 15 (5+10) alternating
Odes: None in Book III
Trochaic Strophe: 7,11 alternating
Odes: None in Book III
Ionic a Minore: 16 twice, 8
Ode: 12
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[[Category:Poetry]]
[[Category:Poetry]]

Latest revision as of 21:54, 26 January 2013

Book II The Odes
Book III
written by Horace 		Book IV



Book III

  1. Odi Profanum
  2. Dulce Et Decorum Est
  3. Stand Firm
  4. Temper Power With Wisdom
  5. No Surrender
  6. Moral Decadence
  7. Be True
  8. Celebration
  9. A Dialogue
  10. Cruel One
  11. Remember the Danaids
  12. Neobule, to Herself
  13. O Fons Bandusiae
  14. Augustus Returns
  15. Too Old
  16. Just Enough
  17. The Approaching Storm
  18. To Faunus
  19. Let’s Drink
  20. The Conflict
  21. Praise Of Wine
  22. To Diana
  23. Pure Hands
  24. Destructive Wealth
  25. Bacchanalian Song
  26. Enough
  27. Europa
  28. For Neptune
  29. Fortune
  30. Aere Perennius


Index of First Lines

Metres Used in Book III.

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