ODES - I.22 THE MAN, MY FRIEND, WHOSE
CONSCIOUS HEART ...
Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus) trans. John Wesley
Integer uitae scelerisque purus
non eget Mauris laculis neque arcu
nec uenenatis grauida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra,

siue per Syrtis iter aestuosas
siue facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum uel quae loca fabulosus
lambit Hydaspes.

Namque me silua lupus in Sabina,
dum meam canto Lalagem et ultra
terminum curis uagor expeditis,
fugit inermem,






quale portentum neque militaris
Daunias latis alit aesculetis
nec Iubae tellus generat, leonum
arida nutrix.

Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
arbor aestiua recreatur aura,
quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Iuppiter urget;

pone sub curru nimium propinqui
solis in terra domibus negata:
dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
dulce loquentem.
Integrity needs no defense;
The man who trusts to Innocence,
Nor wants the darts Numidians throw,
Nor arrows of the Parthian bow.

Secure o'er Libya's sandy seas
Or hoary Caucasus he strays;
O'er regions scarcely known to Fame,
Washed by Hydaspes' fabled stream.

While void of cares, of naught afraid,
Late in the Sabine woods I strayed;
On Sylvia's lips, while pleased I sung,
How Love and soft Persuasion hung!

A ravenous wolf, intent on food,
Rushed from the covert of the wood;
Yet dared not violate the grove
Secured by Innocence and Love:

Nor Mauritania's sultry plain
So large a savage does contain;
Nor e'er so huge a monster treads
Warlike Apulia's beechen shades.

Place me where no revolving sun
Does e'er his radiant circle run,
Where clouds and damps alone appear
And poison the unwholesome year:

Place me in that effulgent day
Beneath the sun's directer ray;
No change from its fixed place shall move
The basis of my lasting love.

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