Horace -- Translations into English; Latin poetry -- Translations into English
Handy Literal Translations
THE WORKS OF HORACE
_TRANSLATED LITERALLY INTO ENGLISH PROSE_
By C. Smart, A.M.
Of Pembroke College, Cambridge
_A NEW EDITION_
REVISED BY
Theodore Alois Buckley B.A. Of Christ Church
THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.
ODE I.
TO MAECENAS.
Maecenas, descended from royal ancestors, O both my protection and my
darling honor! There are those whom it delights to have collected
Olympic dust in the chariot race; and [whom] the goal nicely avoided by
the glowing wheels, and the noble palm, exalts, lords of the earth, to
the gods.
This man, if a crowd of the capricious Quirites strive to raise him to
the highest dignities; another, if he has stored up in his own granary
whatsoever is swept from the Libyan thrashing floors: him who delights
to cut with the hoe his patrimonial fields, you could never tempt, for
all the wealth of Attalus, [to become] a timorous sailor and cross the
Myrtoan sea in a Cyprian bark. The merchant, dreading the south-west
wind contending with the Icarian waves, commends tranquility and the
rural retirement of his village; but soon after, incapable of being
taught to bear poverty, he refits his shattered vessel. There is
another, who despises not cups of old Massic, taking a part from the
entire day, one while stretched under the green arbute, another at the
placid head of some sacred stream.
The camp, and the sound of the trumpet mingled with that of the clarion,
and wars detested by mothers, rejoice many.
The huntsman, unmindful of his tender spouse, remains in the cold air,
whether a hart is held in view by his faithful hounds, or a Marsian boar
has broken the fine-wrought toils.
Ivy, the reward of learned brows, equals me with the gods above: the
cool grove, and the light dances of nymphs and satyrs, distinguish me
from the crowd; if neither Euterpe withholds her pipe, nor Polyhymnia
disdains to tune the Lesbian lyre. But, if you rank me among the lyric
poets, I shall tower to the stars with my exalted head.
* * * * *
ODE II.
TO AUGUSTUS CAESAR
Enough of snow and dreadful hail has the Sire now sent upon the earth,
and having hurled [his thunderbolts] with his red right hand against the
sacred towers, he has terrified the city; he has terrified the nations,
lest the grievous age of Pyrrha, complaining of prodigies till then
unheard of, should return, when Proteus drove all his [marine] herd to
visit the lofty mountains; and the fishy race were entangled in the elm
top, which before was the frequented seat of doves; and the timorous
deer swam in the overwhelming flood. We have seen the yellow Tiber, with
his waves forced back with violence from the Tuscan shore, proceed to
demolish the monuments of king [Numa], and the temples of Vesta; while
he vaunts himself the avenger of the too disconsolate Ilia, and the
uxorious river, leaving his channel, overflows his left bank,
notwithstanding the disapprobation of Jupiter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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