Poems List

BkIII:II Dulce Et Decorum Est

BkIII:II Dulce Et Decorum Est

Let the boy toughened by military service
learn how to make bitterest hardship his friend,
and as a horseman, with fearful lance,
go to vex the insolent Parthians,

spending his life in the open, in the heart
of dangerous action. And seeing him, from
the enemy’s walls, let the warring
tyrant’s wife, and her grown-up daughter, sigh:

‘Ah, don’t let the inexperienced lover
provoke the lion that’s dangerous to touch,
whom a desire for blood sends raging
so swiftly through the core of destruction.’

It’s sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.
Yet death chases after the soldier who runs,
and it won’t spare the cowardly back
or the limbs, of peace-loving young men.

Virtue, that’s ignorant of sordid defeat,
shines out with its honour unstained, and never
takes up the axes or puts them down
at the request of a changeable mob.

Virtue, that opens the heavens for those who
did not deserve to die, takes a road denied
to others, and scorns the vulgar crowd
and the bloodied earth, on ascending wings.

And there’s a true reward for loyal silence:
I forbid the man who divulged those secret
rites of Ceres, to exist beneath
the same roof as I, or untie with me

the fragile boat: often careless Jupiter
included the innocent with the guilty,
but lame-footed Punishment rarely
forgets the wicked man, despite his start.
238

BkII:XVII We’ll Go Together

BkII:XVII We’ll Go Together

Why do you stifle me with your complaining?
It’s neither the gods’ idea nor mine to die
before you, Maecenas, you’re the great
glory, and pillar of my existence.


Ah, if some premature blow snatches away
half of my spirit, why should the rest remain,
no longer as loved, nor surviving
entire? That day shall lead us to ruin


together. I’m not making some treacherous
promise: whenever you lead the way, let’s go,
let’s go, prepared as friends to set out,
you and I, to try the final journey.


No Chimaera’s fiery breath will ever tear
me from you, or if he should rise against me
hundred handed Gyas: that’s the will
of all-powerful Justice and the Fates.


Whether Libra or fearful Scorpio shone
more powerfully on me at my natal hour,
or Capricorn, which is the ruler
of the waters that flow round Italy,


our stars were mutually aspected in their
marvellous way. Jupiter’s protection shone,
brighter for you than baleful Saturn,
and rescued you, and held back the rapid


wings of Fate, that day when the people crowding
the theatre, three times broke into wild applause:
I’d have received the trunk of a tree
on my head, if Faunus, the guardian


of Mercurial poets, hadn’t warded off
the blow with his hand. So remember to make
due offering: you build a votive shrine:
I’ll come and sacrifice a humble lamb.
172

BkII:XV Excess

BkII:XV Excess

Not long now and our princely buildings will leave
few acres under the plough, ornamental
waters appearing everywhere, spread
wider than the Lucrine Lake is, plane trees,


without vines, will drive out the elms: and violet
beds, and myrtles, and all the wealth of perfumes
will scatter their scent through olive groves
that gave their crops for a former owner.


Then thick laurel branches will shut out the sun’s
raging. It wasn’t the case under Romulus,
or long-haired Cato, it wasn’t the rule,
that our ancient predecessors ordained.


Private property was modest in their day,
the common lands vast: no private citizen
had a portico, measuring tens
of feet, laid out facing the shady north,


nor did the laws allow ordinary turf
to be scorned for altars, ordering cities
and the gods’ temples, to be adorned,
at public expense, with rarest marbles.
232

BkII:XIV Eheu Fugaces

BkII:XIV Eheu Fugaces

Oh how the years fly, Postumus, Postumus,
they’re slipping away, virtue brings no respite
from the wrinkles that furrow our brow,
impending old age, Death the invincible:


not even, my friend, if with three hundred bulls
every day, you appease pitiless Pluto,
jailor of three-bodied Geryon,
who imprisons Tityos by the sad


stream, that every one of us must sail over,
whoever we are that enjoy earth’s riches,
whether we’re wealthy, or whether we are
the most destitute of humble farmers.


In vain we’ll escape from bloodiest warfare,
from the breakers’ roar in the Adriatic,
in vain, on the autumn seas, we’ll fear
the southerly that shatters our bodies:


We’re destined to gaze at Cocytus, winding,
dark languid river: the infamous daughters
of Danaus: and at Sisyphus,
son of Aeolus, condemned to long toil.


We’re destined to leave earth, home, our loving wife,
nor will a single tree, that you planted here,
follow you, it’s briefly-known master,
except for the much-detested cypress.


A worthier heir will drink your Caecuban,
that cellar a hundred keys are protecting,
and stain the street with a vintage wine,
finer than those at the Pontiff’s table.
268

BkII:XII Terentia’s Singing

BkII:XII Terentia’s Singing

You’d not wish the theme of Numantia’s fierce wars
matched to the lyre’s soft tones, nor cruel Hannibal,
nor the Sicilian Sea turned to dark crimson
by the Carthaginians’ blood,


nor the savage Lapiths, and drunken Hylaeus
filled with excess wine, nor Hercules with his hand
taming the sons of earth, at the danger of which
ancient Saturn’s glittering house


was shaken: you’d be better yourself, Maecenas,
at writing prose histories of Caesar’s battles,
and telling us about all those menacing kings,
now led by the neck through the streets.


The Muse wishes me to speak of the sweet singing
of your lady Terentia, and speak of her bright
flashing eyes, and speak of that heart of hers, that is
so faithful in mutual love:


she to whom it’s not unbecoming to adopt
the lead among the dancers, or compete in wit,
or, that holy day that honours Diana, give
her arm in play to shining girls.


Would you exchange now, one hair of Terentia’s
for what rich Achaemenes owned, Mygdonian
wealth of fertile Phrygia, or
the Arabians’ well-stocked homes,


while she bends her neck for those passionate kisses,
or in gentle cruelty refuses to yield them,
more than he who asks likes having them taken: then
at times surprises by taking?
197

BkII:VII A Friend Home From the Wars

BkII:VII A Friend Home From the Wars

O Pompey, often led, with me, by Brutus,
the head of our army, into great danger,
who’s sent you back, as a citizen,
to your country’s gods and Italy’s sky,

Pompey, the very dearest of my comrades,
with whom I’ve often drawn out the lingering
day in wine, my hair wreathed, and glistening
with perfumed balsam, of Syrian nard?

I was there at Philippi, with you, in that
headlong flight, sadly leaving my shield behind,
when shattered Virtue, and what threatened
from an ignoble purpose, fell to earth.

While in my fear Mercury dragged me, swiftly,
through the hostile ranks in a thickening cloud:
the wave was drawing you back to war,
carried once more by the troubled waters.

So grant Jupiter the feast he’s owed, and stretch
your limbs, wearied by long campaigning, under
my laurel boughs, and don’t spare the jars
that were destined to be opened by you.

Fill the smooth cups with Massic oblivion,
pour out the perfume from generous dishes,
Who’ll hurry to weave the wreathes for us
of dew-wet parsley or pliant myrtle?

Who’ll throw high Venus at dice and so become
the master of drink? I’ll rage as insanely
as any Thracian: It’s sweet to me
to revel when a friend is home again.
238

BkII:X The Golden Mean

BkII:X The Golden Mean

You’ll live more virtuously, my Murena,
by not setting out to sea, while you’re in dread
of the storm, or hugging fatal shores
too closely, either.

Whoever takes delight in the golden mean,
safely avoids the squalor of a shabby house,
and, soberly, avoids the regal palace
that incites envy.

The tall pine’s more often shaken by the wind,
and it’s a high tower that falls with a louder
crash, while the mountainous summits are places
where lightning strikes.

The heart that is well prepared for any fate
hopes in adversity, fears prosperity.
Though Jupiter brings us all the unlovely
winters: he also

takes them away again. If there’s trouble now
it won’t always be so: sometimes Apollo
rouses the sleeping Muse with his lyre, when he’s
not flexing his bow.

Appear brave and resolute in difficult
times: and yet be wise and take in all your sails
when they’re swollen by too powerful
a following wind.
273

BkII:V Be Patient

BkII:V Be Patient

She’s not ready to bear a yoke on her bowed
neck yet, she’s not yet equal to the duty
of coupling, or bearing the heavy
weight of a charging bull in the mating act.


The thoughts of your heifer are on green pastures,
on easing her burning heat in the river,
and sporting with the eager calves
in the depths of moist willow plantations.


Forget this passion of yours for the unripe
grape: autumn, the season of many-colours,
will soon be dyeing bluish clusters
a darker purple, on the vine, for you.


Soon she’ll pursue you, since fierce time rushes on
and will add to her the years it takes from you,
soon Lalage herself will be eager
to search you out as a husband, Lalage,


beloved as shy Pholoë was not, nor your
Chloris, with shoulders gleaming white, like a clear
moon shining over a midnight sea,
nor Cnidian Gyges, that lovely boy,


whom you could inser in a choir of girls,
and the wisest of strangers would fail to tell
the difference, with him hidden behind
his flowing hair, and ambiguous looks.
241

BkII:IV Loving A Servant Girl

BkII:IV Loving A Servant Girl

Phocian Xanthis, don’t be ashamed of love
for your serving-girl. Once before, Briseis
the Trojan slave with her snow-white skin stirred
angry Achilles:

and captive Tecmessa’s loveliness troubled
her master Ajax, the son of Telamon:
and Agamemnon, in his mid-triumph, burned
for a stolen girl,

while the barbarian armies, defeated
in Greek victory, and the loss of Hector,
handed Troy to the weary Thessalians,
an easier prey.

You don’t know your blond Phyllis hasn’t parents
who are wealthy, and might grace their son-in-law.
Surely she’s royally born, and grieves at her
cruel household gods.

Believe that the girl you love’s not one who comes
from the wicked masses, that one so faithful
so averse to gain, couldn’t be the child of
a shameful mother.

I’m unbiased in praising her arms and face,
and shapely ankles: reject all suspicion
of one whose swiftly vanishing life has known
its fortieth year.
247

BkII:II Money

BkII:II Money

Crispus, silver concealed in the greedy earth
has no colour, and you are an enemy
to all such metal unless, indeed, it gleams
from sensible use.

Proculeius will be famous in distant
ages for his generous feelings towards
his brothers: enduring fame will carry him
on its tireless wings.

You may rule a wider kingdom by taming
a greedy spirit, than by joining Spain
to far-off Libya, while Carthaginians
on both sides, serve one.

A fatal dropsy grows worse with indulgence,
the patient can’t rid himself of thirst unless
his veins are free of illness, and his pale flesh
of watery languor.

Though Phraates is back on the Armenian
throne, Virtue, differing from the rabble, excludes
him from the blessed, and instructs the people
not to misuse words,

instead conferring power, and security
of rule, and lasting laurels, on him alone
who can pass by enormous piles of treasure
without looking back.
246

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Identification and basic context

Horace, whose full name was Quintus Horatius Flaccus, was a celebrated Roman lyric poet. He was born in Venusia (modern Venosa), Italy, and died in Rome. His father, a freedman, ensured Horace received a high-quality education. Horace was a Roman citizen and wrote in Latin.

Childhood and education

Horace's father, despite being a freedman, invested heavily in his son's education, sending him to Rome for schooling and later to Athens to study philosophy. This education provided him with a broad understanding of Greek literature and philosophy, significantly shaping his intellectual and poetic development.

Literary trajectory

Horace's literary career began after his return to Rome. He gained patronage from influential figures like Maecenas, who became a close friend and supporter. This patronage allowed Horace to dedicate himself to poetry. His early works include the Epodes and Satires, followed by the more polished Odes and Epistles. He became a prominent voice in the Augustan literary circle.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Horace's major works include the Epodes, Satires (Sermones), Odes (Carmina), and Epistles (Epistulae), the latter including the Ars Poetica. His poetry explores themes of love, friendship, patriotism, the fleeting nature of life (carpe diem), moderation (aurea mediocritas), and the wisdom of a simple, virtuous life. He mastered various poetic forms, particularly the lyric ode, adapting Greek meters into Latin with great skill. His style is known for its clarity, precision, elegance, and wit. He often used irony and a conversational tone, especially in his Satires and Epistles. He is associated with the Golden Age of Latin literature.

Cultural and historical context

Horace lived during the tumultuous transition from the Roman Republic to the Roman Empire, under the reign of Augustus. He was part of a vibrant literary scene that included Virgil and Ovid. His poetry often reflects the political and social climate of his time, advocating for peace and stability while subtly commenting on public life. He was a beneficiary of the Augustan cultural revival.

Personal life

Horace's personal life was marked by his close friendship with Gaius Maecenas, a wealthy patron of the arts who provided him with a Sabine farm. This estate became a refuge and a source of inspiration for his poetry. While he served briefly as a military tribune, his primary focus remained on his literary pursuits. His personal beliefs often centered on Stoic and Epicurean philosophies, advocating for a balanced and content existence.

Recognition and reception

Horace was highly acclaimed during his lifetime and is considered one of the greatest Latin poets. His works were widely studied and admired by subsequent generations. He has consistently been recognized for his technical brilliance, wisdom, and enduring relevance.

Influences and legacy

Horace was deeply influenced by Greek poets like Sappho, Alcaeus, and Pindar. His legacy is immense; he profoundly influenced Western poetry, particularly lyric poetry and satire. Poets from the Renaissance to modern times have emulated his style, themes, and philosophical outlook. His Ars Poetica remains a foundational text in literary criticism.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Horace's poetry is often interpreted as a philosophical guide to living a good life, emphasizing moderation, self-sufficiency, and appreciating the present moment. His advice on poetry in the Ars Poetica has been subject to endless analysis and debate.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Despite his fame, Horace often expressed a desire for a quiet, unobtrusive life, valuing his independence and his Sabine farm above public recognition. He was known for his meticulous craftsmanship, revising his poems extensively.

Death and memory

Horace died shortly after his patron Maecenas. He was buried near Maecenas's tomb on the Esquiline Hill in Rome. His memory is preserved through his enduring literary works, which continue to be studied and appreciated worldwide.