| SERMONUM - II.6 | SATIRES - II.6 | ||||
| Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus) | tr. Niall Rudd | ||||
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Hoc erat in votis: modus agri non ita magnus, hortus ubi et tecto vicinus jugis aquae fons et paullum silvae super his foret. auctius atque di melius fecere. bene est. nil amplius oro, Maia nate, nisi ut propria haec mihi munera faxis. si neque majorem feci ratione mala rem nec sum facturus vitio culpave minorem; si veneror stultus nihil horum: 'o si angulus ille proximus accedat, qui nunc denormat agellum!' 'o si urnam argenti fors quae mihi monstret! ut illi, thesauro invento qui mercennarius agrum illum ipsum mercatus aravit, dives amico Hercule!' si, quod adest, gratum juvat, hac prece te
ingenium, utque soles, custos mihi maximus adsis. ergo ubi me in montis et in arcem ex urbe removi, quid prius illustrem satiris musaque pedestri? nec mala me ambitio perdit nec plumbeus Auster autumnusque gravis, Libitinae quaestus acerbae. matutine pater, seu Iane libentius audis, unde homines operum primos vitaeque labores instituunt, sic Dis placitum, tu carminis esto principium. Romae sponsorem me rapis. 'heia! ne prior officio quisquam respondeat, urge.' sive Aquilo radit terras seu bruma nivalem interiore diem gyro trahit, ire necesse est. ............ ............ |
This is what I prayed for. A piece of land - not so very big, with a garden and, near the house, a spring that never fails, and a bit of wood to round it off. All this and more the gods have granted. So be it. I ask for nothing else, O son of Maia, except that you make these blessings last. If I haven't increased my assets by any dishonest trick and don't intend to fritter them away by waste or neglect, if I'm not such a fool as to pray: 'I wish my little farm could take in that corner of my neighbour's, which at present spoils
who on finding some treasure bought and ploughed the very field in which he had worked as a hired hand; it was Hercules' favour that made him rich; if I'm pleased and content with my lot, then this is my prayer: 'make fat the flocks I own and everything else except my head, and remain as ever my chief protector.' Well then, now that I've left town for my castle in the hills what thing can I better praise in the satires of my lowland muse? I'm spared the accursed struggle for status, and the leaden sirocco, which in the tainted autumn enriches Our Lady of funerals. O Father of the Dawn, or Janus if you would rather have that name, you watch over the beginning of man's working day, for such is the will of heaven. So let me begin my song with you. In Rome you dispatch me to act as a guarantor. 'Hurry, or someone else will answer the call before you!' The north wind may he rasping the earth or winter may be drawing the snowy day into a smaller circle, but go I must. ............ ............ |
Transl. Copyright © Niall Rudd, 1973, 1979, 1997 - publ. Penguin Classics
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