Horace -- Translations into English; Latin poetry -- Translations into English
evening growl about the sheepfold, nor does the rising ground swell with
vipers; and many more things shall we, happy [Romans], view with
admiration: how neither the rainy east lays waste the corn-fields with
profuse showers, nor is the fertile seed burned by a dry glebe; the king
of gods moderating both [extremes]. The pine rowed by the Argonauts
never attempted to come hither; nor did the lascivious [Medea] of
Colchis set her foot [in this place]: hither the Sidonian mariners never
turned their sail-yards, nor the toiling crew of Ulysses. No contagious
distempers hurt the flocks; nor does the fiery violence of any
constellation scorch the herd. Jupiter set apart these shores for a
pious people, when he debased the golden age with brass: with brass,
then with iron he hardened the ages; from which there shall be a happy
escape for the good, according to my predictions.
* * * * *
ODE XVII.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN HORACE AND CANIDIA.
Now, now I yield to powerful science; and suppliant beseech thee by the
dominions of Proserpine, and by the inflexible divinity of Diana, and by
the books of incantations able to call down the stars displaced from the
firmament; O Canidia, at length desist from thine imprecations, and
quickly turn, turn back thy magical machine. Telephus moved [with
compassion] the grandson of Nereus, against whom he arrogantly had put
his troops of Mysians in battle-array, and against whom he had darted
his sharp javelins. The Trojan matrons embalmed the body of the
man-slaying Hector, which had been condemned to birds of prey, and dogs,
after king [Priam], having left the walls of the city, prostrated
himself, alas! at the feet of the obstinate Achilles. The mariners of
the indefatigable Ulysses, put off their limbs, bristled with the hard
skins [of swine], at the will of Circe: then their reason and voice were
restored, and their former comeliness to their countenances. I have
suffered punishment enough, and more than enough, on thy account, O thou
so dearly beloved by the sailors and factors. My vigor is gone away, and
my ruddy complexion has left me; my bones are covered with a ghastly
skin; my hair with your preparations is grown hoary. No ease respites me
from my sufferings: night presses upon day, and day upon night: nor is
it in my power to relieve my lungs, which are strained with gasping.
Wherefore, wretch that I am, I am compelled to credit (what was denied,
by me) that the charms of the Samnites discompose the breast, and the
head splits in sunder at the Marsian incantations. What wouldst thou
have more? O sea! O earth! I burn in such a degree as neither Hercules
did, besmeared with the black gore of Nessus, nor the fervid flame
burning In the Sicilian Aetna. Yet you, a laboratory of Colchian
poisons, remain on fire, till I [reduced to] a dry ember, shall be
wafted away by the injurious winds. What event, or what penalty awaits
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