| ODES - II.3 | AN EVEN MIND ... |
| Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus) | trans. William Ewart Gladstone |
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Aequam memento rebus in arduis seruare mentem, non secus in bonis ab insolentia temperatam laetitia, moriture Delli, seu maestus omni tempore uixeris, seu te in remoto gramine per dies festos reclinatum bearis interiore nota Falerni. Quo pinus ingens albaque populus umbram hospitalem consociare amant ramis? Quid obliquo laborat lympha fugax trepidare riuo? Huc uina et unguenta et nimium breuis flores amoenae ferre iube rosae, dum res et aetas et sororum fila trium patiuntur atra. Cedes coemptis saltibus et domo uillaque flauus quam Tiberis lauit, cedes et exstructis in altum diuitiis potietur heres. Diuesne prisco natus ab Inacho nil interest an pauper et infima de gente sub diuo moreris, uictima nil miserantis Orci. Omnes eodem cogimur, omnium uersata urna serius ocius sors exitura et nos in aeternum exsilium impositura cumbae. |
An even mind in days of care, And in thy days of joy to bear A chastened mood, remember: why? 'T is, Dellius, that thou hast to die. Alike, if all thy life be sad, Or festal season find thee glad, On the lone turf at ease recline, and quaff thy best Falernian wine. Why do tall pine and poplar white To weave their friendly shade delight? This flitting stream, why hath it sped So headlong down its wandering bed? Bring wine, bring perfumes, bring fresh flowers Of roses, all too brief their hours! While purse, and age, and Sisters Three Permit, though dark their threads may be. This home, these glades, no longer thine, Which auburn Tiber laps, resign; Resign the towering heaps of gold, Which one thine heir, not thou, shall hold. Be hoary Inachus thy sire, Or be thou risen from the mire; Be rich, or poor, it boots thee not: Unpitying Orcus casts his lot. All, all, we drive to doom. The urn Discharges every Life in turn: For every Life, or soon or late, The boat, and endless exile, wait. |
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