Saepe trans finem jaculo nobilis expedito?
Quid latet, ut marinae
Filium dicunt Thetidis sub lacrimosa Trojae
Funera, ne virilis
Cultus in caedem et Lycias proriperet catervas?
VIDES, ut alta stet nive candidum
Soracte, nec jam sustineant onus
Silvae laborantes, geluque
Flumina constiterint acuto ?
Dissolve frigus, ligna super foco
Large reponens; atque benignius
Deprome quadrimum Sabina,
O Thaliarche, merum diota.
Permitte divis cetera: qui simul
Stravere ventos aequore fervido
Deproeliantes, nec cupressi,
Nec veteres agitantur orni.
Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quaerere: et
Quem sors dierum cunque dabit, lucro
Appone: nec dulces amores
Sperne puer, neque tu choreas,
Donec virenti canities abest
Morosa. Nunc et campus, et areae,
And let soft whispers, oftentimes, at night
In the still hours, thy whisperings requite,
When welcome laughter from her inner lair,
Has told thee of the hoyden hiding there,
And fondling arms of love-pledge are divested
From fingers, that but feign to hold it, wrested.
This also is supposed to be an imitation of a poem of Alcaeus.
MERCURY, grandson eloquent of Atlas,
Who the rude ways didst of mankind primeval
Skilfully form, instructing them in speech and
Graces palaestric;
Thee will I sing, of mighty Jove the legate,
And of all gods; thee the curved lyre's inventor,
Cunning to hide whatsoe'er take thy fancy,
Sportively stealing.
Thee, a boy yet, while harsh in tone he threatened, Shouldest thou not bring back his stolen oxen, Robbed of his quiver also, into laughter
'Twas with thee guiding him that wealthy Priam Fleeing from Troy, the haughty sons of Atreus Duped, and the Phthian watch, and foes encamped round Ilium's rampart.
Lenesque sub noctem susurri Composita repetantur hora; Nunc et latentis proditor intimo Gratus puellae risus ab angulo, Pignusque dereptum lacertis, Aut digito male pertinaci.
MERCURI, facunde nepos Atlantis,
Qui feros cultus hominum recentúm
Voce formâsti catus, et decorae
More palaestrae :
Te canam, magni Jovis et deorum
Nuntium, curvaeque lyrae parentem ;
Callidum, quidquid placuit, jocoso
Condere furto.
Te boves olim nisi reddidisses
Per dolum amotas, puerum minaci
Voce dum terret, viduus pharetra
Risit Apollo.
Quin et Atridas, duce te, superbos,
Ilio dives Priamus relicto,
Thessalosque ignes, et iniqua Trojae
Castra fefellit.
Thou in their mansions of delight installest
Pious men's souls, the airy throng directing
With thy gold wand-approved by Gods supernal
And by infernal.
Fortune-telling would seem to have been much in vogue at Rome in Horace's time, and Chaldeans its chief professors.
DON'T ask ('tis forbidden to know) what will be
The bound set by the gods, or for you, or for me,
Nor yet, my Leuconoë, try to explore
Babylonian cyphers: for, trust me, there's more
Of sense shown in bearing whate'er may betide,
Whether many more winters Jove yet may provide,
Or this-which on barriers of pumice has cast
The broken Tyrrhenian sea-be our last.
Be wise, rack your wine, and from life's narrow scope
Cut away the delusion of far-reaching hope.
E'en now, while we speak, spiteful time slips away:
Don't believe in the future, lay hold on to-day.
Tu pias laetis animas reponis
Sedibus, virgaque levem coërces
Aurea turbam, superis deorum
Gratus, et imis.
Tu ne quaesiêris (scire nefas) quem mihi, quem tibi
Finem dî dederint, Leuconoë; nec Babylonios
Tentâris numeros. Ut melius, quidquid erit, pati!
Seu plures hiemes, seu tribuit Juppiter ultimam,
Quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrrhenum. Sapias, vina liques, et spatio brevi
Spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerit invida
Aetas carpe diem, quàm minimum credula postero.
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