ODES - IV.12 ODES - IV.12
Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus) trans. Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton
Iam veris comites, quae mare temperant,
impellunt animae lintea Thraciae;
iam nec prata rigent nec fluvii strepunt
.....hiberna nive turgidi.

nidum ponit Ityn flebiliter gemens
infelix avis et Cecropiae domus
aeternum opprobrium, quod male barbaras
.....regum est ulta libidines.

dicunt in tenero gramine pinguium
custodes ovium carmina fistula
delectantque deum cui pecus et nigri
.....colles Arcadiae placent.

adduxere sitim tempora, Vergili:
sed pressum Calibus ducere Liberum
si gestis, iuvenum nobilium cliens,
.....nardo vina merebere.

nardi parvus onyx eliciet cadum,
qui nunc Sulpiciis accubat horreis,
spes donare novas largus amaraque
.....curarum eluere efficax.

ad quae si properas gaudia, cum tua
velox merce veni: non ego te meis
immunem meditor tingere poculis,
.....plena dives ut in domo.

verum pone moras et studium lucri,
nigrorumque memor, dum licet, ignium
misce stultitiam consiliis brevem:
.....dulce est desipere in loco.
Now Thracian breezes, comrades of the spring,
Temper the ocean and impel the sails;
Frost crisps not now the fields, nor rage the floods,
.....Swollen with winter snows.

Now build her nest the melancholy bird
Yet moaning Itys; she, the eternal shame
Of Cecrops' house for vengeance too severe
.....On barbarous lusts of kings.

Swains of sleek flocks on the young grass reclined,
Chant pastoral songs attuned to piping reeds,
Charming the god who loves the darksome slopes
.....And folds of Arcady.

These, O my Virgil, are the days of thirst;
But if, O client of illustrious youths,
Calenian juices tempt, bring thou the nard,
.....And with it earn my wine;

One tiny box of spikenard will draw forth
The cask now ripening in Sulpician vaults,--
Cask large enough to hold a world of hope,
.....And drown a world of care.

Quick! if such merriments delight thee, come
With thine own contributions to the feast;
Not like rich host in prodigal halls - my cups
.....Thou shalt not tinge scot-free.

But put aside delays and care of gain,
Warned, while yet time, by the dark death-fires; mix
With thought brief thoughtlessness; in fitting place
.....'Tis sweet to be unwise.

Click here 2 for another translation of this poem.

next
index
translator's next