Horace: EPISTULAE

Ibis Liburnis inter alta navium,
      amice, propugnacula,
paratus omne Caesaris periculum
      subire, Maecenas, tuo:
quid nos, quibus te vita sit superstite
      iucunda, si contra, gravis?
utrumne iussi persequemur otium
      non dulce, ni tecum simul,
an hunc laborem mente laturi, decet
      qua ferre non mollis viros?
feremus et te vel per Alpium iuga
      inhospitalem et Caucasum
vel occidentis usque ad ultimum sinum
      forti sequemur pectore.

You will go in Liburnian galleys among the high bastions of ships,
      my friend, prepared to undergo every peril of Caesar,
Maecenas, in your own person: what of us, for whom life is
      jocund while you outlive, but, if the contrary, grave?
shall we, when ordered, pursue otium—no sweet thing,
      unless together with you—
or, to bear this labor with the mind with which it befits
      men not soft to bear?
we will bear it, and we will follow you even over the ridges of the Alps
      and the inhospitable Caucasus,
or all the way to the ultimate bay of the Occident
      with a brave breast.

roges, tuom labore quid iuvem meo,
      inbellis ac firmus parum?
comes minore sum futurus in metu,
      qui maior absentis habet:
ut adsidens inplumibus pullis avis
      serpentium adlapsus timet
magis relictis, non, ut adsit, auxili
      latura plus praesentibus.
libenter hoc et omne militabitur
      bellum in tuae spem gratiae,
non ut iuvencis inligata pluribus
      aratra nitantur meis
pecusve Calabris ante Sidus fervidum
      Lucana mutet pascuis
neque ut superni villa candens Tusculi
      Circaea tangat moenia:
satis superque me benignitas tua
      ditavit, haud paravero
quod aut avarus ut Chremes terra premam,
      discinctus aut perdam nepos.

you may ask, how I help your cause by my toil,
      unwarlike and too little stout?
as a companion I shall be in less fear—
      one has greater for the absent:
as a bird sitting by her unfledged chicks
      fears the gliding-up of serpents,
more for them when left behind; not that, by being there,
      she would bring more aid to those present.
gladly this and every war shall be served
      in hope of your favor,
not that ploughs, yoked to more of my young bulls,
      should strain with my own,
nor that my herd, before the fervid Dog-Star,
      should change Lucanian for Calabrian pastures,
nor that a villa, gleaming on upper Tusculum,
      should touch the Circaean walls:
your kindness has enriched me enough and more;
      I shall not have laid up what either, like avaricious Chremes, I might press under the earth,
      or a slack-girdled grandson might squander.

'Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,
      ut prisca gens mortalium,
paterna rura bubus exercet suis
      solutus omni faenore
neque excitatur classico miles truci
      neque horret iratum mare
forumque vitat et superba civium
      potentiorum limina.
ergo aut adulta vitium propagine
      altas maritat populos
aut in reducta valle mugientium
      prospectat errantis greges
inutilisque falce ramos amputans
      feliciores inserit
aut pressa puris mella condit amphoris
      aut tondet infirmas ovis.
vel cum decorum mitibus pomis caput
      Autumnus agris extulit,
ut gaudet insitiva decerpens pira
      certantem et uvam purpurae,
qua muneretur te, Priape, et te, pater
      Silvane, tutor finium.

'Blessed is he who, far from affairs,
      like the ancient race of mortals,
works his paternal fields with his own oxen,
      released from every usury;
nor is he roused by the grim war-trumpet as a soldier,
      nor does he shudder at the angry sea,
and he avoids the forum and the proud thresholds
      of citizens more powerful.
therefore either with the grown shoot of the vine
      he weds the tall poplars,
or in a set-back valley he looks out upon
      the wandering herds of the lowing cattle;
cutting off useless branches with his sickle,
      he inserts happier, more fruitful ones;
or he stores the pressed honeys in clean amphoras,
      or shears the feeble sheep.
or when Autumn has lifted his comely head
      for the fields with gentle fruits,
how he rejoices, plucking the grafted pears
      and the grape competing with purple,
with which he would present you, Priapus, and you, father
      Silvanus, guardian of boundaries.

libet iacere modo sub antiqua ilice,
      modo in tenaci gramine:
labuntur altis interim ripis aquae,
      queruntur in Silvis aves
frondesque lymphis obstrepunt manantibus,
      somnos quod invitet levis.
at cum tonantis annus hibernus Iovis
      imbris nivisque conparat,
aut trudit acris hinc et hinc multa cane
      apros in obstantis plagas
aut amite levi rara tendit retia
      turdis edacibus dolos
pavidumque leporem et advenam laqueo gruem
      iucunda captat praemia.
quis non malarum quas amor curas habet
      haec inter obliviscitur?

it pleases him now to lie beneath an ancient ilex,
      now on tenacious grass:
meanwhile the waters glide past lofty banks,
      the birds complain in the woods,
and the leaves with the flowing waters rustle against them,
      a light thing that invites sleep.
but when the wintry season of thundering Jove
      prepares rain and snow,
either he drives from this side and that, with many a hound,
      fierce boars into the opposing toils,
or with a light pole he stretches fine-meshed nets—
      snares for ravenous thrushes—
and the timorous hare and the migrant crane with a noose
      he takes as delightful prizes.
who does not, amid these things, forget the evil cares
      which love has?

quodsi pudica mulier in partem iuvet
      domum atque dulcis liberos,
Sabina qualis aut perusta Solibus
      pernicis uxor Apuli,
sacrum vetustis exstruat lignis focum
      lassi Sub adventum viri
claudensque textis cratibus laetum pecus
      distenta siccet ubera
et horna dulci vina promens dolio
      dapes inemptas adparet:
non me Lucrina iuverint conchylia
      magisve rhombus aut scari,
siquos Eois intonata fluctibus
      hiems ad hoc vertat mare,
non Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum,
      non attagen Ionicus
iucundior quam lecta de pinguissimis
      oliva ramis arborum
aut herba lapathi prata amantis et gravi
      malvae salubres corpori
vel agna festis caesa Terminalibus
      vel haedus ereptus lupo.
has inter epulas ut iuvat pastas ovis
      videre properantis domum,
videre fessos vomerem inversum boves
      collo trahentis languido
positosque vernas, ditis examen domus,
      circum renidentis Laris.'
haec ubi locutus faenerator Alfius,
      iam iam futurus rusticus,
omnem redegit idibus pecuniam,
      quaerit kalendis ponere.

but if a modest woman help on her part
      the home and the sweet children,
such as a Sabine, or the sun-scorched
      wife of the nimble Apulian,
let her pile the sacred hearth with ancient woods
      at the arrival of her weary man,
and, shutting with woven hurdles the glad flock,
      drain the distended udders,
and, drawing forth this year’s wines from the sweet cask,
      set out unbought banquets:
the Lucrine shellfish would not please me,
      nor rhombus or scarus more,
if any which, thundered-on by the Eastern waves,
      the winter should turn into this sea;
let not an African bird descend into my belly,
      nor the Ionian attagen,
more welcome than olives picked from the fattest
      branches of the trees,
or the herb of sorrel, a lover of meadows, and the
      substantial mallows, healthful to the body,
or a lamb slain at the festival of the Terminalia,
      or a kid snatched from the wolf.
amid these feasts how it delights to see the sheep,
      having fed, hurrying home,
to see the weary oxen dragging the inverted plow
      by a languid neck,
and the house-born slaves set down, the swarm of a rich house,
      around the beaming Lar.'
when the moneylender Alfius had spoken these things,
      just now about to become a rustic,
he called in all his money on the Ides;
      he seeks to put it out on the Kalends.

III

Parentis olim siquis inpia manu
senile guttur fregerit,
edit cicutis alium nocentius.
o dura messorum ilia.
quid hoc veneni saevit in praecordiis?

If ever anyone with an impious hand
breaks a parent's senile throat,
he eats garlic more noxious than hemlock.
o tough guts of reapers.
what is this poison that rages in the vitals?

      num viperinus his cruor
incoctus herbis me fefellit? an malas
      Canidia tractavit dapes?
ut Argonautas praeter omnis candidum
      Medea mirata est ducem,
ignota tauris inligaturum iuga
      perunxit hoc Iasonem,
hoc delibutis ulta donis paelicem
      serpente fugit alite.

      has viperine gore in these,
steeped with herbs, deceived me? or has
      Canidia handled baneful banquets?
as Medea admired, beyond all the Argonauts, the fair
      leader,
to bind yokes unknown to the bulls
      she anointed Jason with this,
with this, after the gifts were smeared, avenging herself on her rival-mistress,
      she fled on a winged serpent.

nec tantus umquam Siderum insedit vapor
      siticulosae Apuliae
nec munus umeris efficacis Herculis
      inarsit aestuosius.
at siquid umquam tale concupiveris,
      iocose Maecenas, precor,
manum puella savio opponat tuo,
      extrema et in sponda cubet.

never did so great a vapor of the stars settle upon thirsty Apulia,
      nor did the gift on the shoulders of mighty Hercules
blaze more torridly. But if ever you should desire anything of this sort,
      jocose Maecenas, I pray,
let a girl set her hand against your kiss,
      and let her lie at the outer edge on the couch.

Lupis et agnis quanta Sortito obtigit,
      tecum mihi discordia est,
Hibericis peruste funibus latus
      et crura dura compede.
licet superbus ambules pecunia,
      fortuna non mutat genus.
videsne, sacram metiente te viam
      cum bis trium ulnarum toga,
ut ora vertat huc et huc euntium
      liberrima indignatio?

As much as by lot fell to wolves and lambs,
      with you I have discord,
you, your side seared by Iberian cords
      and your legs by a hard fetter.
though you strut proudly with money,
      Fortune does not change your stock.
do you see, as you measure out the Sacred Way
      with a toga of twice three ells,
how the faces of those going turn this way and that
      in the freest indignation?

'sectus flagellis hic triumviralibus
      praeconis ad fastidium
arat Falerni mille fundi iugera
      et Appiam mannis terit
sedilibusque magnus in primis eques
      Othone contempto sedet.
quid attinet tot ora navium gravi
      rostrata duci pondere
contra latrones atque servilem manum
      hoc, hoc tribuno militum?'

'cut by triumviral scourges here
      to the herald’s loathing,
he ploughs a thousand jugera of a Falernian estate
      and wears down the Appian Way with ponies,
and, great, a knight in the very front seats,
      sits with Otho scorned.
what is the use that so many ship-prows,
      beaked, are led with heavy weight,
against brigands and a servile band—
      for this, for this military tribune?'

'At o deorum quidquid in caelo regit
      terras et humanum genus,
quid iste fert tumultus aut quid omnium
      voltus in unum me truces?
per liberos te, si vocata partubus
      Lucina veris adfuit,
per hoc inane purpurae decus precor,
      per inprobaturum haec Iovem,
quid ut noverca me intueris aut uti
      petita ferro belua?'
ut haec trementi questus ore constitit
      insignibus raptis puer,
inpube corpus, quale posset inpia
      mollire Thracum pectora:
Canidia, brevibus illigata viperis
      crinis et incomptum caput,
iubet sepulcris caprificos erutas,
      iubet cupressos funebris
et uncta turpis ova ranae Sanguine
      plumamque nocturnae strigis
herbasque, quas Iolcos atque Hiberia
      mittit venenorum ferax,
et ossa ab ore rapta ieiunae canis
      flammis aduri Colchicis.
at expedita Sagana, per totam domum
      spargens Avernalis aquas,
horret capillis ut marinus asperis
      echinus aut Laurens aper.

'But O whatever of the gods in heaven rules
      the lands and the human race,
what does this tumult bring, or why do the grim
      faces of all converge on me alone?
by your children, if Lucina, when invoked for labors,
      was present at their true births,
by this empty honor of the purple I pray,
      by Jove who will disapprove these things,
why do you gaze on me as a stepmother does, or as on
      a beast assailed with steel?'
when, having complained these things with trembling mouth, there stood
      the boy, his insignia torn away,
a beardless body, such as could soften the impious
      breasts of Thracians:
Canidia, with her hair bound with short vipers
      and her head unkempt,
orders caper-fig trees dug up from graves,
      orders funereal cypresses,
and foul eggs smeared with the blood of a frog
      and a feather of the nocturnal screech-owl,
and herbs which Iolcos and Hiberia,
      fertile of poisons, send,
and bones snatched from the mouth of a fasting dog
      to be burned by Colchian flames.
but ready Sagana, through the whole house
      scattering Avernian waters,
bristles with her hairs like a sea-urchin rough
      with spines, or a Laurentine boar.

abacta nulla Veia conscientia
      ligonibus duris humum
exhauriebat, ingemens laboribus,
      quo posset infossus puer
longo die bis terque mutatae dapis
      inemori spectaculo,
cum promineret ore, quantum exstant aqua
      suspensa mento corpora;
exsucta uti medulla et aridum iecur
      amoris esset poculum,
interminato cum semel fixae cibo
      intabuissent pupulae.
non defuisse masculae libidinis
      Ariminensem Foliam
et otiosa credidit Neapolis
      et omne vicinum oppidum,
quae sidera excantata voce Thessala
      lunamque caelo deripit.
hic inresectum saeva dente livido
      Canidia rodens pollicem
quid dixit aut quid tacuit?

Veia, her conscience driven off, with hard mattocks
      was hollowing out the ground, groaning at her labors,
so that the buried boy might be able
      over a long day, twice and thrice, to die away at the spectacle
of the meal shifted, and when his mouth protruded, as much as bodies
      project from the water when held up by the chin;
so that sucked-out marrow and an arid liver
      might be a cup of love,
when the little eyes, once fixed on the proffered food,
      had wasted into decay.
That Folia of Ariminum, of masculine lust, had not been lacking—
      idle Neapolis and every neighboring town believed—
she who by a Thessalian incantation-voice tears down
      the stars and the moon from the sky.
Here Canidia, gnawing her uncut thumb
      with cruel, livid tooth—what did she say, or what did she not keep silent?

'o rebus meis
      non infideles arbitrae,
Nox et Diana, quae silentium regis,
      arcana cum fiunt sacra,
nunc, nunc adeste, nunc in hostilis domos
      iram atque numen vertite.
formidulosis cum latent silvis ferae
      dulci sopore languidae,
senem, quod omnes rideant, adulterum
      latrent Suburanae canes
nardo perunctum, quale non perfectius
      meae laborarint manus.
quid accidit?

'O not unfaithful arbiters of my affairs,
      Night and Diana, who rule silence
when secret rites are performed, now, now be present, now into the homes of my enemies
      turn wrath and divine power.
when wild beasts hide in fearsome woods,
      languid with sweet sleep,
let the Suburan dogs bark at the old adulterer,
      so that all may laugh,
anointed with nard, such as not more perfectly
      my own hands would have labored.
what has happened?

cur dira barbarae minus
      venena Medeae valent,
quibus Superbam fugit ulta paelicem,
      magni Creontis filiam,
cum palla, tabo munus imbutum, novam
      incendio nuptam abstulit?
atqui nec herba nec latens in asperis
      radix fefellit me locis.
indormit unctis omnium cubilibus
      oblivione paelicum?

why do the dire venoms of barbarian Medea avail less,
      with which she, having avenged herself, fled the Haughty paramour,
the daughter of great Creon,
      when the robe, a gift imbued with gore, carried off the new
bride in a conflagration?
      and yet neither herb nor a root hidden in rugged places
has deceived me.
      does he sink to sleep upon the anointed beds of all,
in forgetfulness of his paramours?

a, a, solutus ambulat veneficae
      scientioris carmine.
non usitatis, Vare, potionibus,
      o multa fleturum caput,
ad me recurres nec vocata mens tua
      Marsis redibit vocibus.
maius parabo, maius infundam tibi
      fastidienti poculum
priusque caelum Sidet inferius mari
      tellure porrecta super
quam non amore sic meo flagres uti
      bitumen atris ignibus.'
sub haec puer iam non, ut ante, mollibus
      lenire verbis inpias,
sed dubius unde rumperet silentium,
      misit Thyesteas preces:
'venena maga non fas nefasque, non valent
      convertere humanam vicem.

ah, ah, he walks loosed by the charm of a more knowing sorceress;
      not by customary potions, Varus, O head that will weep much,
you will run back to me, nor will your mind, though summoned,
      return at Marsian invocations.
I shall prepare something greater, I shall pour for you, disdainful one,
      a greater cup,
and sooner will the sky sit lower than the sea,
      with earth stretched out above,
than that you not blaze with my love thus,
      like bitumen with black fires.'
after this the boy, now not, as before, to soothe the impious
      with soft words,
but doubtful whence he should break the silence,
      sent forth Thyestean prayers:
'the poisons of a maga—neither by sacred right nor by sacrilege—are not strong enough
      to reverse the human lot.

diris agam vos: dira detestatio
      nulla expiatur victima.
quin, ubi perire iussus exspiravero,
      nocturnus occurram Furor
petamque voltus umbra curvis unguibus,
      quae vis deorum est Manium,
et inquietis adsidens praecordiis
      pavore somnos auferam.
vos turba vicatim hinc et hinc saxis petens
      contundet obscaenas anus;
post insepulta membra different lupi
      et Esquilinae alites
neque hoc parentes, heu mihi superstites,
      effugerit spectaculum.'

I will drive you with dire curses: a dire detestation is expiated by no victim.
      Nay, when, ordered to perish, I have breathed my last, I will come upon you as a nocturnal Fury
and as a shade I will seek your faces with curved nails,
      the force that belongs to the gods of the Manes,
and, sitting upon your restless vitals,
      I will strip away sleep with terror.
you a crowd, from street to street on this side and that, assailing with stones,
      will batter, you obscene old hags;
afterward wolves will scatter your unburied limbs
      and the Esquiline birds,
nor will this spectacle escape your parents, alas surviving me.'

Quid inmerentis hospites vexas, canis
      ignavos adversum lupos?
quin huc inanis, si potes, vertis minas
      et me remorsurum petis?
nam qualis aut Molossus aut fulvos Lacon,
      amica vis pastoribus,
agam per altas aure sublata nivis
      quaecumque praecedet fera;
tu, cum timenda voce complesti nemus,
      proiectum odoraris cibum.

Why do you vex unoffending guests, dog,
      craven against wolves?
Why not turn your empty threats this way, if you can,
      and aim at me, who will bite back?
For, like a Molossian or tawny Laconian,
      a friendly force to shepherds,
I will drive, through deep snows, with ear upraised,
      whatever wild beast goes before;
you, when with a fearsome voice you have filled the grove,
      sniff at the cast-out food.

cave, cave, namque in malos asperrimus
      parata tollo cornua,
qualis Lycambae spretus infido gener
      aut acer hostis Bupalo.
an si quis atro dente me petiverit,
      inultus ut flebo puer?

beware, beware, for against the wicked I am most harsh
      I raise my ready horns,
such as the spurned son-in-law of faithless Lycambes
      or the keen enemy to Bupalus.
or if someone attacks me with a black tooth,
      shall I weep unavenged like a boy?

VII

Quo, quo scelesti ruitis? aut cur dexteris
      aptantur enses conditi?
parumne campis atque Neptuno super
      fusum est Latini sanguinis,
non ut superbas invidae Karthaginis
      Romanus arces ureret,
intactus aut Britannus ut descenderet
      sacra catenatus via,
sed ut Secundum vota Parthorum sua
      Vrbs haec periret dextera?

Whither, whither do you rush, you wicked men? or why are the sheathed
      swords being fitted to right hands?
Has too little Latin blood been poured over the plains and upon
      Neptune,
not so that the Roman might burn the proud citadels of envious
      Carthage,
or that the Briton, untouched, might descend the Sacred Way
      in chains,
but that, according to the vows of the Parthians, this City
      should perish by its own right hand?

neque hic lupis mos nec fuit leonibus
umquam nisi in dispar feris.
furorne caecos an rapit vis acrior
an culpa? responsum date.

nor is this the custom here among wolves, nor has it ever been among lions,
except against beasts of unlike kind.
is it fury that seizes you, blind, or a harsher force,
or culpability? give an answer.

tacent et albus ora pallor inficit
      mentesque perculsae Stupent.
sic est: acerba fata Romanos agunt
      scelusque fraternae necis,
ut inmerentis fluxit in terram Remi
      sacer nepotibus cruor.

they are silent, and a white pallor infects their faces
      and their smitten minds are Stupefied.
so it is: bitter fates drive the Romans
      and the crime of fraternal slaughter,
ever since the blood of undeserving Remus flowed onto the earth—
      the accursed gore to his descendants.

VIII

Rogare longo putidam te saeculo,
      viris quid enervet meas,
cum sit tibi dens ater et rugis vetus
      frontem senectus exaret
hietque turpis inter aridas natis
      podex velut crudae bovis.
sed incitat me pectus et mammae putres
      equina quales ubera
venterque mollis et femur tumentibus
      exile suris additum.
esto beata, funus atque imagines
      ducant triumphales tuom
nec sit marita, quae rotundioribus
      onusta bacis ambulet.

To ask, you putrid with long age, what enervates my manly strengths,
      when you have a black tooth and age-worn old age furrows
your brow with wrinkles, and an ugly anus gapes between dry buttocks
      like that of a raw cow. But what incites me is your chest and rotting breasts,
nipples like a mare’s udders, and your soft belly, and a thigh
      meager, attached to swelling calves. Be blessed, and may your funeral and ancestral masks
      lead your triumph; and let there not be a married woman who walks
laden with rounder berries.

quid? quod libelli Stoici inter Sericos
      iacere pulvillos amant,
inlitterati num minus nervi rigent
      minusve languet fascinum?
quod ut superbo provoces ab inguine,
      ore adlaborandum est tibi.

What? that little Stoic books love to lie among Seric cushions,
do unlettered sinews stiffen any less,
or does the phallus languish any less?
And that, to call it forth from a proud groin,
you must labor with your mouth.

Quando repositum Caecubum ad festas dapes
      victore laetus Caesare
tecum sub alta---sic Iovi gratum---domo,
      beate Maecenas, bibam
sonante mixtum tibiis carmen lyra,
      hac Dorium, illis barbarum?
ut nuper, actus cum freto Neptunius
      dux fugit ustis navibus
minatus Vrbi vincla, quae detraxerat
      servis amicus perfidis.
Romanus eheu---posteri negabitis---
      emancipatus feminae
fert vallum et arma miles et spadonibus
      servire rugosis potest
interque signa turpe militaria
      sol adspicit conopium.

When shall I drink the laid-away Caecuban for festal banquets
      rejoicing with Caesar victorious,
with you beneath your high—thus pleasing to Jove—house,
      blessed Maecenas,
the song, mingled on the lyre with flutes sounding—
      here in the Dorian mode, there in the barbarian?
as lately, when the Neptunian leader, driven with the strait,
      fled with his ships scorched,
threatening chains to the City, which he had taken off
      from slaves, a friend to treacherous ones.
A Roman—alas, you posterity will deny it—
      emancipated to a woman,
the soldier bears rampart and arms, and can serve
      wrinkled eunuchs,
and among the shameful military standards
      the sun beholds a mosquito-net.

ad hunc frementis verterunt bis mille equos
      Galli canentes Caesarem
hostiliumque navium portu latent
      puppes sinistrorsum citae.
io Triumphe, tu moraris aureos
      currus et intactas boves?
io Triumphe, nec Iugurthino parem
      bello reportasti ducem
neque Africanum, cui super Karthaginem
      virtus Sepulcrum condidit.

to him the Gauls, singing of Caesar, turned their two thousand neighing horses,
      and in the harbor lie hidden the sterns of hostile ships,
sped leftwards in haste.
io Triumph, do you delay the golden
      chariots and the untouched oxen?
io Triumph, nor have you brought back a leader
      equal to the Jugurthine war,
nor an Africanus, for whom above Carthage
      valor founded a Sepulcher.

terra marique victus hostis Punico
      lugubre mutavit sagum.
aut ille centum nobilem Cretam urbibus
      ventis iturus non suis
exercitatas aut petit Syrtis noto
      aut fertur incerto mari.
capaciores adfer huc, puer, Scyphos
      et Chia vina aut Lesbia
vel quod fluentem nauseam coerceat
      metire nobis Caecubum.

the enemy, defeated on land and sea, has changed his Punic mourning-cloak.
      or he, to noble Crete with a hundred cities,
intending to go with winds not his own,
      or he seeks the much-ploughed Syrtes with the south wind,
or is borne on an uncertain sea.
      bring here larger Cups, boy, and Chian wines or Lesbian,
or, to check the flowing nausea,
      measure out for us Caecuban.

curam metumque Caesaris rerum iuvat
dulci Lyaeo solvere.

it pleases to dissolve the care and the fear of Caesar’s affairs
with sweet Lyaeus.

Mala soluta navis exit alite
      ferens olentem Mevium.
ut horridis utrumque verberes latus,
      Auster, memento fluctibus;
niger rudentis Eurus inverso mari
      fractosque remos differat;
insurgat Aquilo, quantus altis montibus
      frangit trementis ilics;
nec sidus atra nocte amicum adpareat,
      qua tristis Orion cadit;
quietiore nec feratur aequore
      quam Graia victorum manus,
cum Pallas usto vertit iram ab Ilio
      in inpiam Aiacis ratem.
o quantus instat navitis sudor tuis
      tibique pallor luteus
et illa non virilis heiulatio
      preces et aversum ad Iovem,
Ionius udo cum remugiens sinus
      Noto carinam ruperit
opima quodsi praeda curvo litore
      porrecta mergos iuverit,
libidinosus immolabitur caper
      et agna Tempestatibus.

The ship, loosed, sets out under an ill omen,
      bearing stinking Mevius.
So that you may lash each of its flanks with rough
      waves, Auster, remember;
let dusky Eurus, on an upturned sea,
      scatter the cables and the broken oars;
let Aquilo rise, as great as when on lofty mountains
      he shatters trembling holm-oaks;
and let no friendly star appear on a black night,
      where sad Orion sets;
nor let it be borne on a calmer sea
      than the Greek band of victors,
when Pallas, with Ilium burned, turned her wrath
      against the impious ship of Ajax.
O what sweat presses upon your sailors,
      and what sallow pallor upon you,
and that unmanly whimpering—
      prayers to Jupiter turned away—
when the Ionian bay, bellowing back, with the wet Notus
      has shattered the keel.
But if, as rich prey, stretched on the curved shore,
      it should delight the gulls,
a lustful he-goat will be immolated
      and a lamb to the Tempests.

Petti, nihil me sicut antea iuvat
      scribere versiculos amore percussum gravi,
amore, qui me praeter omnis expetit
      mollibus in pueris aut in puellis urere.
hic tertius December, ex quo destiti
      Inachia furere, silvis honorem decutit.
heu me, per Vrbem (nam pudet tanti mali)
      fabula quanta fui, conviviorum et paenitet,
in quis amantem languor et silentium
      arguit et latere petitus imo spiritus.

Petti, nothing, as before, pleases me      to write little verses, smitten by a grave love,
a love which, beyond all, assails me      to burn for tender boys or for girls.
now this is the third December, since I ceased      to rave for Inachia, that strips the honor from the woods.
alas for me, through the City (for I am ashamed of so great an ill)      what a tale I was, and I even repent of the banquets,
in which languor and silence indict the lover      and a breath drawn from the inmost chest.

'contrane lucrum nil valere candidum
      pauperis ingenium' querebar adplorans tibi,
simul calentis inverecundus deus
      fervidiore mero arcana promorat loco.
'quodsi meis inaestuet praecordiis
      libera bilis, ut haec ingrata ventis dividat
fomenta volnus nil malum levantia,
      desinet inparibus certare submotus pudor.'
ubi haec severus te palam laudaveram,
      iussus abire domum ferebar incerto pede
ad non amicos heu mihi postis et heu
      limina dura, quibus lumbos et infregi latus.
nunc gloriantis quamlibet mulierculam
      vincere mollitia amor Lycisci me tenet;
unde expedire non amicorum queant
      libera consilia nec contumeliae graves,
sed alius ardor aut puellae candidae
      aut teretis pueri longam renodantis comam.

'Against lucre does the candid
      genius of a poor man count for nothing?' I was complaining, imploring to you,
while at the same time the shameless god of the heating cup
      with hotter undiluted wine brings the arcana out from their place.
'But if in my breast there should seethe
      free bile, so that it may scatter to the winds these ungrateful fomentations,
remedies that lift no evil from the wound,
      modesty, once removed, will cease to contend with unequal odds.'
When for these things I had sternly praised you openly,
      ordered to go home I was borne on an unsteady foot
to doorposts not friendly to me—alas—and alas
      the hard thresholds, on which I even bruised my loins and my side.
Now the love of Lyciscus holds me,
      to outdo any vaunting little woman in softness;
from which neither the free counsels of friends
      nor heavy contumelies can extricate me,
but only another ardor—either for a candid girl
      or for a smooth boy re-knotting his long hair.

XII

Quid tibi vis, mulier nigris dignissima barris?
      munera quid mihi quidve tabellas
mittis nec firmo iuveni neque naris obesae?
      namque sagacius unus odoror,
polypus an gravis hirsutis cubet hircus in alis
      quam canis acer ubi lateat sus.

What do you want, woman most worthy of black elephants?
      why do you send me gifts or little tablets
to one who is neither a firm young man nor of a fat nose?
      for I alone sniff more sagaciously,
whether a polyp or a rank he-goat lies in hairy armpits
      than a keen dog where a sow lies hidden.

qui sudor vietis et quam malus undique membris
      crescit odor, cum pene Soluto
indomitam properat rabiem sedare, neque illi
      iam manet umida creta colorque
stercore fucatus crocodili iamque Subando
      tenta cubilia tectaque rumpit.
vel mea cum saevis agitat fastidia verbis:
      'Inachia langues minus ac me;
Inachiam ter nocte potes, mihi Semper ad unum
      mollis opus. pereat male quae te
Lesbia quaerenti taurum monstravit inertem.

what sweat on her withered limbs, and how bad a stench from every side
      grows, when, with a penis let loose,
she hastens to soothe her untamed rage; nor for her
      now does moist chalk or color remain,
painted with crocodile dung, and now, by sweating,
      she bursts the strained couches and the roof.
or when she goads my disgust with savage words:
      “With Inachia you droop less than with me;
you can manage Inachia three times in a night; for me it is always down
      to a single soft performance. Let her perish miserably, that one who
Lesbia, when you were seeking a bull, pointed out an inert one.”

      cum mihi Cous adesset Amyntas,
cuius in indomito constantior inguine nervos
      quam nova collibus arbor inhaeret.
muricibus Tyriis iteratae vellera lanae
      cui properabantur? tibi nempe,
ne foret aequalis inter conviva, magis quem
      diligeret mulier sua quam te.
o ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acris
      agna lupos capreaeque leones!'

      when Coan Amyntas was with me,
whose sinew clings more steadfast in an untamed groin
      than a new tree clings upon hills.
for whom were the fleeces of wool, re-dyed with Tyrian murex,
      being hurried? surely for you,
lest there be among the guests an equal, one whom
      his woman would love more than you.
o I not fortunate, whom you flee, as a lamb dreads fierce
      wolves and roe-deer dread lions!'

XIII

Horrida tempestas caelum contraxit et imbres
      nivesque deducunt Iovem; nunc mare, nunc siluae
Threicio Aquilone sonant. rapiamus, amici,
      Occasionem de die dumque virent genua
et decet, obducta solvatur fronte senectus.
      tu vina Torquato move consule pressa meo.

A bristling tempest has contracted the sky and the rains,
      and snows draw down Jove; now the sea, now the forests
resound with the Thracian Aquilon. Let us snatch, friends,
      the Occasion from the day, and while the knees are green
and it is seemly, let senescence be loosed from the clouded brow.
      you bring out the wines pressed when my Torquatus was consul.

cetera mitte loqui: deus haec fortasse benigna
      reducet in sedem vice. nunc et Achaemenio
perfundi nardo iuvat et fide Cyllenea
      levare diris pectora Sollicitudinibus,
nobilis ut grandi cecinit Centaurus alumno:
      'invicte, mortalis dea nate puer Thetide,
te manet Assaraci tellus, quam frigida parvi
      findunt Scamandri flumina lubricus et Simois,
unde tibi reditum certo Subtemine Parcae
      rupere, nec mater domum caerula te revehet.
illic omne malum vino cantuque levato,
deformis aegrimoniae dulcibus adloquiis.'

leave off speaking of the rest: a god perhaps by a kindly turn will bring these things back into their seat.
      now too it delights to be drenched with Achaemenian nard and to lighten the breast of dire anxieties with the Cyllenian lyre,
as the noble Centaur sang to his great pupil:
      “unconquered one, mortal boy born of the goddess Thetis,
the land of Assaracus awaits you, which the chilly streams of little
      Scamander and the slippery Simois cleave,
whence the Parcae have broken for you a return with a sure weft,
      nor will your sea-blue mother carry you home.
there relieve every ill with wine and song,
the misshapen melancholy with sweet addresses.”

XIV

Mollis inertia cur tantam diffuderit imis
      oblivionem sensibus,
pocula Lethaeos ut si ducentia somnos
      arente fauce traxerim,
candide Maecenas, occidis Saepe rogando:
      deus, deus nam me vetat
inceptos, olim promissum carmen, iambos
      ad umbilicum adducere.
non aliter Samio dicunt arsisse Bathyllo
      Anacreonta Teium,
qui persaepe cava testudine flevit amorem
      non elaboratum ad pedem.
ureris ipse miser: quodsi non pulcrior ignis
      accendit obsessam Ilion,
gaude sorte tua; me libertina, nec uno
      contenta, Phryne macerat.

Why has soft inertia poured so great an oblivion into my inmost      senses,
as if with a parched throat I had drawn cups leading Lethean      slumbers,
candid Maecenas, you kill me by asking Often:      a god, a god indeed forbids me
to bring to the umbilicus the iambs begun, the song once      promised, to carry through.
They say Anacreon of Teos burned no otherwise for Bathyllus      of Samos,
who very often with the hollow tortoise-shell lamented a love      not elaborated to the measure.
You yourself are burned, poor man: but if no fairer fire      set ablaze beleaguered Ilium,
rejoice in your lot; me a freedwoman Phryne, not content      with one, wears down.

Nox erat et caelo fulgebat Luna sereno
      inter minora sidera,
cum tu, magnorum numen laesura deorum,
      in verba iurabas mea,
artius atque hedera procera adstringitur ilex
      lentis adhaerens bracchiis;
dum pecori lupus et nautis infestus Orion
      turbaret hibernum mare
intonsosque agitaret Apollinis aura capillos,
      fore hunc amorem mutuom,
o dolitura mea multum virtute Neaera:
      nam siquid in Flacco viri est,
non feret adsiduas potiori te dare noctes
      et quaeret iratus parem
nec semel offensi cedet constantia formae,
      si certus intrarit dolor.
et tu, quicumque es felicior atque meo nunc
      superbus incedis malo,
sis pecore et multa dives tellure licebit
      tibique Pactolus fluat
nec te Pythagorae fallant arcana renati
      formaque vincas Nirea,
heu heu, translatos alio maerebis amores,
      ast ego vicissim risero.

It was night, and in a serene sky Luna was shining
      among the lesser stars,
when you, about to wound the divinity of the great gods,
      were swearing to my words,
as the holm-oak is bound tight by tall ivy
      clinging with pliant arms;
while the wolf was hostile to the flock and Orion to sailors
      was troubling the wintry sea,
and the breeze of Apollo was tossing his unshorn hair,
      that this love would be mutual,
O Neaera, you who will greatly grieve at my manly virtue:
      for if there is any manhood in Flaccus,
he will not endure your giving continual nights to a better man
      and, angered, will seek a match,
nor, once offended, will constancy yield to beauty,
      if a settled grief has entered.
And you too, whoever you are, more fortunate and now
      you stride proud upon my misfortune,
be rich in herds and much land, if you will, and for you
      let Pactolus flow,
nor let the arcana of Pythagoras of rebirth deceive you,
      and may you surpass Nireus in beauty—
alas, alas, you will mourn loves transferred elsewhere,
      but I in turn shall have laughed.

XVI

Altera iam teritur bellis civilibus aetas,
      suis et ipsa Roma viribus ruit.
quam neque finitimi valuerunt perdere Marsi
      minacis aut Etrusca Porsenae manus,
aemula nec virtus Capuae nec Spartacus acer
      novisque rebus infidelis Allobrox
nec fera caerulea domuit Germania pube
      parentibusque abominatus Hannibal:
inpia perdemus devoti sanguinis aetas
      ferisque rursus occupabitur solum:
barbarus heu cineres insistet victor et Vrbem
      eques sonante verberabit ungula,
quaeque carent ventis et solibus ossa Quirini,
      (nefas videre) dissipabit insolens.
forte quid expediat communiter aut melior pars,
      malis carere quaeritis laboribus;
nulla sit hac potior sententia: Phocaeorum
      velut profugit exsecrata civitas
agros atque lares patrios habitandaque fana
      apris reliquit et rapacibus lupis,
ire, pedes quocumque ferent, quocumque per undas
      Notus vocabit aut protervos Africus.

Already a second age is being worn down by civil wars,
      and Rome herself rushes to ruin by her own forces.
whom neither the neighboring threatening Marsi
      nor the Etruscan hand of Porsena had the power to destroy,
nor the rival valor of Capua, nor keen Spartacus,
      nor the Allobrogian unfaithful to revolutionary affairs,
nor did fierce Germany with its blue-eyed youth subdue her,
      nor Hannibal, abominated by our fathers:
an impious age, of blood under a vow, will destroy us,
      and the soil will again be occupied by wild beasts:
alas, the barbarian victor will trample the ashes, and the City
      the horseman will lash with resounding hoof,
and the bones of Quirinus, which are without winds and suns,
      (unspeakable to see) the insolent man will scatter.
perhaps you seek, in common, what would be expedient, or as the better course,
      to be free from evil labors;
let there be no counsel better than this: as the execrated city
      of the Phocaeans fled,
it left the fields and paternal hearths and shrines meant to be dwelt in
      to boars and rapacious wolves,
to go, wherever the feet will carry, wherever over the waves
      the South Wind or the impetuous Africus will call.

sic placet? an melius quis habet suadere? Secunda
ratem occupare quid moramur alite?

Does this please? Or has anyone something better to advise? Favorable
the auspice, why do we delay to seize the ship?

sed iuremus in haec: 'simul imis saxa renarint
      vadis levata, ne redire sit nefas;
neu conversa domum pigeat dare lintea, quando
      Padus Matina laverit cacumina,
in mare seu celsus procurrerit Appenninus
      novaque monstra iunxerit libidine
mirus amor, iuvet ut tigris subsidere cervis,
      adulteretur et columba miluo,
credula nec ravos timeant armenta leones
      ametque salsa levis hircus aequora.'
haec et quae poterunt reditus abscindere dulcis
      eamus omnis exsecrata civitas
aut pars indocili melior grege; mollis et exspes
      inominata perpremat cubilia.
vos, quibus est virtus, muliebrem tollite luctum,
      Etrusca praeter et volate litora.
nos manet Oceanus circum vagus: arva beata
      petamus, arva divites et insulas,
reddit ubi cererem tellus inarata quotannis
      et inputata floret usque vinea,
germinat et numquam fallentis termes olivae
      suamque pulla ficus ornat arborem,
mella cava manant ex ilice, montibus altis
      levis crepante lympha desilit pede.

but let us swear to this: 'as soon as rocks, lifted from the lowest depths, shall have floated back in the shallows,
      let it be nefas to return; nor let it irk us to set the sails, turned homeward, when
the Po shall have washed the Matine peaks,
      or when the lofty Apennine shall have run out into the sea and wondrous love with lust shall have joined new monsters,
so that it may please the tiger to lie down with stags,
      and the dove be adulterated with the kite,
and trusting herds not fear tawny lions,
      and the nimble he-goat love the salty waters.'
these things, and whatever can cut off sweet returns—let us go, an accursed city all of us,
      or the better part from the unteachable flock; let the soft and hopeless press nameless couches.
you, who have virtue, remove womanish mourning,
      and fly past the Etruscan shores. the Ocean surrounding, wandering, awaits us: let us seek blessed fields,
      rich fields and islands,
where the earth unploughed returns Ceres each year
      and the vineyard, unpruned, ever blossoms,
and the shoot of the never-failing olive buds,
      and the dusky fig adorns its own tree,
honey drips hollow from the holm-oak, from high mountains
      the water, light, leaps down with a tinkling foot.

illic iniussae veniunt ad mulctra capellae
      refertque tenta grex amicus ubera
nec vespertinus circumgemit ursus ovile
      nec intumescit alta viperis humus;
pluraque felices mirabimur, ut neque largis
      aquosus Eurus arva radat imbribus,
pinguia nec siccis urantur semina glaebis,
      utrumque rege temperante caelitum.
non huc Argoo contendit remige pinus
      neque inpudica Colchis intulit pedem,
non huc Sidonii torserunt cornua nautae,
      laboriosa nec cohors Vlixei.
nulla nocent pecori contagia, nullius astri
      gregem aestuosa torret impotentia.

there the she-goats come to the milk-pails unbidden,
      and the friendly flock brings back distended udders;
nor does the evening bear groan around the sheepfold,
      nor does the deep soil swell with vipers;
and, happy, we shall marvel at more things: that the watery Eurus
      does not scour the fields with lavish rains,
nor are the rich seeds scorched by dry clods,
      with the ruler of the celestials tempering both.
hither no pine-ship with an Argive oarsman has pressed,
      nor has an immodest Colchian set foot here,
hither Sidonian sailors have not turned their yards,
      nor the toilsome cohort of Ulysses.
no contagions harm the herd; the sweltering violence of no star
      scorches the flock.

Iuppiter illa piae secrevit litora genti,
ut inquinavit aere tempus aureum,
aere, dehinc ferro duravit saecula, quorum
piis secunda vate me datur fuga.

Jupiter set apart those shores for a pious people,
when he stained the golden time with bronze,
with bronze, and thereafter he hardened the ages with iron, of which
a second flight is granted to the pious, with me as vatic bard.

XVII

'Iam iam efficaci do manus scientiae,
supplex et oro regna per Proserpinae,
per et Dianae non movenda numina,
per atque libros carminum valentium
refixa caelo devocare sidera,
Canidia: parce vocibus tandem sacris
citumque retro solve, solve turbinem.
movit nepotem Telephus Nereium,
in quem superbus ordinarat agmina
Mysorum et in quem tela acuta torserat.
unxere matres Iliae additum feris
alitibus atque canibus homicidam Hectorem,
postquam relictis moenibus rex procidit
heu pervicacis ad pedes Achillei.

'Now, now I give my hands to your effective science,
as a suppliant I also pray by the realms of Proserpina,
and by Diana’s divinities not to be moved,
and by the books of potent chants
to call down the stars refixed to the sky,
Canidia: spare at last your sacred voices
and unbind, unbind the swift-whirled whirlwind backward.
movit Telephus the Nereian grandson,
against whom, in pride, he had marshaled the ranks
of the Mysians, and against whom he had hurled sharp weapons.
the Ilian mothers anointed man-slaying Hector,
given over to wild birds and to dogs,
after the king, the walls abandoned, fell—alas—at the feet of obstinate Achilles.

saetosa duris exuere pellibus
laboriosi remiges Vlixei
volente Circa membra; tunc mens et sonus
relapsus atque notus in voltus honor.
dedi satis superque poenarum tibi,
amata nautis multum et institoribus.
fugit iuventas et verecundus color
reliquit ossa pelle amicta lurida,
tuis capillus albus est odoribus,
nullum a labore me reclinat otium;
urget diem nox et dies noctem neque est
levare tenta spiritu praecordia.

the bristly rowers of laborious Ulysses, with Circe willing, shed their limbs from tough hides; then mind and voice returned, and the familiar honor into their faces.
I have given you punishment enough and more, you much beloved by sailors and peddlers.
youth flees, and the modest color has left the bones, swathed with sallow skin;
my hair is white from your perfumes,
no leisure reclines me from toil;
night presses day and day presses night, nor is there any way to lighten with breath the strained heart.

ergo negatum vincor ut credam miser,
Sabella pectus increpare carmina
caputque Marsa dissilire nenia.
quid amplius vis? o mare et terra, ardeo,
quantum neque atro delibutus Hercules
Nessi cruore nec Sicana fervida
virens in Aetna flamma; tu, donec cinis
iniuriosis aridus ventis ferar,
cales venenis officina Colchicis.

therefore, with my request denied, I, wretched, am overcome to believe
that Sabellian songs make the breast rattle
and that a Marsian dirge splits the head.
what more do you want? O sea and earth, I burn,
as not even Hercules smeared with the black gore
of Nessus, nor the Sicilian green
flame hot upon Aetna; you, until as ash
I am borne, dry, by injurious winds,
are hot with the poisons of the Colchian workshop.

quae finis aut quod me manet stipendium?
effare; iussas cum fide poenas luam,
paratus expiare, seu poposceris
centum iuvencos sive mendaci lyra
voles sonare: ''tu pudica, tu proba
perambulabis astra sidus aureum.''
infamis Helenae Castor offensus vice
fraterque magni Castoris, victi prece,
adempta vati reddidere lumina:
et tu, potes nam, solve me dementia,
o nec paternis obsoleta sordibus
neque in sepulcris pauperum prudens anus
novendialis dissipare pulveres.
tibi hospitale pectus et purae manus
tuosque venter Pactumeius et tuo
cruore rubros obstetrix pannos lavit,
utcumque fortis exsilis puerpera.'
'quid obseratis auribus fundis preces?

what end, or what recompense awaits me?
speak out; I will pay in good faith the penalties you command,
prepared to make expiation, whether you should demand
a hundred heifers, or with a lying lyre you should wish
to sound: ''you chaste, you upright,
you will walk among the stars, a golden constellation.''
Castor, ill-famed through Helen, offended at the turn,
and the brother of great Castor, conquered by prayer,
restored to the bard the eyes that had been taken away:
and you too—for you can—release me from madness,
O you not made shabby by your father’s filth,
nor, a prudent old woman among the graves of the poor, to scatter
the ninth-day dusts. You have a hospitable heart and pure hands,
and Pactumeius—your belly—and the midwife washed the cloths
red with your blood, however bravely you spring up, a woman in childbed.'
'why, with your ears barred, do you pour forth prayers?

non saxa nudis surdiora navitis
Neptunus alto tundit hibernus salo.
inultus ut tu riseris Cotytia
volgata, sacrum liberi Cupidinis,
et Esquilini pontifex venefici
inpune ut Vrbem nomine inpleris meo?
quid proderat ditasse Paelignas anus
velociusve miscuisse toxicum?

not even a wintry Neptune in the deep brine beats rocks more deaf than naked mariners.
that you, unpunished, have laughed at the Cotytian rites made public, the sacred rite of unbridled Cupid,
and, as the pontiff of Esquiline sorcery,
that you fill the City with my name with impunity?
what would it have profited to have enriched the Paelignian old women
or to have mixed the poison more swiftly?

sed tardiora fata te votis manent:
ingrata misero vita ducenda est in hoc,
novis ut usque suppetas laboribus.
optat quietem Pelopis infidi pater,
egens benignae Tantalus semper dapis,
optat Prometheus obligatus aliti,
optat supremo collocare Sisyphus
in monte saxum; sed vetant leges Iovis.
voles modo altis desilire turribus,
frustraque vincla gutturi innectes tuo
modo ense pectus Norico recludere
fastidiosa tristis aegrimonia.

Note: The following historical text includes references to self-harm. If you’re struggling or in distress, consider reaching out to local support services or someone you trust for help.

but slower fates than your vows await you:
a thankless life must be drawn out by the wretch in this,
so that you may ever be equal to new labors.
the father of perfidious Pelops longs for rest,
Tantalus, ever needy of a kindly banquet;
Prometheus, bound to the winged creature, longs,
Sisyphus longs to place his stone on the topmost
mountain; but the laws of Jove forbid.
now you will wish to leap down from lofty towers,
and in vain you will fasten bonds upon your own throat;
now to open your breast with a Noric sword,
through gloomy, fastidious melancholy.

vectabor umeris tunc ego inimicis eques
meaeque terra cedet insolentiae.
an quae movere cereas imagines,
ut ipse nosti curiosus, et polo
deripere lunam vocibus possim meis,
possim crematos excitare mortuos
desiderique temperare pocula,
plorem artis in te nil agentis exitus?'

then I shall be carried on the shoulders of my enemies, a horseman,
and the earth will yield to my insolence.
or I—who set in motion the waxen images,
as you yourself, curious, know—and from the pole of heaven
can tear down the Moon with my incantations,
can rouse the cremated dead
and temper cups of desire,—
am I to bewail the outcomes of an art that does nothing on you?'