Quale portentum neque militaris
Daunias latis alit aesculetis,
Nec Jubae tellus generat, leonum
Arida nutrix.
Pone me, pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor aestiva recreatur aura;
Quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Juppiter urget:
Pone sub curru nimium propinqui
Solis, in terra domibus negata :
Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem.
VITAS hinnuleo me similis, Chloë,
Quaerenti pavidam montibus aviis
Matrem, non sine vano
Aurarum et siluae metu.
Nam seu mobilibus veris inhorruit Adventus foliis, seu virides rubum Dimovere lacertae,
Et corde et genibus tremit. Atqui non ego te, tigris ut aspera Gaetulusve leo, frangere persequor :
Tandem desine matrem
Tempestiva sequi viro.
Quintilius was born at Cremona, and was a neighbour and friend of
Virgil, through whom probably Horace made his acquaintance.
WHAT shame, what stint in sorrowing can there be
For one so dear? Ordain, Melpomene,
A dolorous chant; thou unto whom thy sire
Hath given a voice of music and the lyre.
Doth then a never-ending sleep oppress
Quintilius? upon whose like, ah when
Shall Modesty, or Truth or Guilelessness,
Of Justice the pure sister, look again?
By many good his fall is wept, and more
By none than thee; and thy Quintilius,
Pious in vain, thou bidst the gods restore.
Ah! not so, Virgil, was he lent to us!
E'en though more softly thou attune the lute
Than Thracian Orpheus to attentive trees,
Never will blood the empty form recruit,
Which, deaf to prayer against what Fate decrees,
Mercury, touching with his dreaded wand,
Hath once compelled to join the sable band.
Hard! but with patience will more lightly lie
That which 'twere criminal to remedy.
Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam cari capitis? Praecipe lugubres
Cantus, Melpomene, cui liquidam pater
Vocem cum cithara dedit.
Ergo Quintilium perpetuus sopor
Urget? cui Pudor, et Justitiae soror
Incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas,
Quando ullum inveniet parem?
Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit;
Nulli flebilior quam tibi, Virgili.
Tu frustra pius, heu! non ita creditum
Poscis Quintilium deos.
Quod si Threïcio blandius Orpheo
Auditam moderere arboribus fidem;
Non vanae redeat sanguis imagini,
Quam virga semel horrida,
Non lenis precibus fata recludere
Nigro compulerit Mercurius gregi.
Durum sed levius fit patientia
Quidquid corrigere est nefas.
If I had consulted my own taste, I should have preferred to leave this Ode untouched. It does Horace no credit, whether we suppose him to have written it in earnest, or to have taken the subject merely as an exercise for his muse—perhaps in imitation of some piece of Archilochus.
RARELIER knock against your fastened windows
Impudent youngsters with repeated rappings;
Nor do they break your rest; and to its threshold
Clingeth the portal,
Which to revolve upon its hinge was once so
Ready but ever less and less you hear now
'While through the livelong night for thee I perish,
Lydia, sleep'st thou?'
You, an old woman, in your turn will pine for
Saucy rakes leaving you in lonely alley,
While betwixt moons with greater fury blusters
Thracian tempest:
And the same appetite and lustful craving,
Wont to infuriate the dams of horses,
Rages around your ulcerated liver:
That 'tis the blooming ivy and the budding
Myrtle that gay young fellows most delight in,
And that dry leaves they dedicate to Hebrus,
Winter's companion.
PARCIUS junctas quatiunt fenestras
Ictibus crebris juvenes protervi,
Nec tibi somnos adimunt: amatque
Janua limen,
Quae prius multum facilis movebat
Cardines. Audis minus et minus jam,
'Me tuo longas pereunte noctes,
Lydia, dormis?'
Invicem moechos anus arrogantes
Flebis in solo levis angiportu,
Thracio bacchante magis sub inter-
Cum tibi flagrans amor et libido,
Quae solet matres furiare equorum,
Saeviet circa jecur ulcerosum :
Laeta quod pubes hedera virente
Gaudeat, pulla magis atque myrto:
Aridas frondes hiemis sodali
Dedicet Hebro.
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