Hephaestus had his own palace on Olympus, containing his workshop with anvil and twenty bellows that worked at his bidding. Hephaestus crafted much of the magnificent equipment of the gods, and almost any finely wrought metalwork imbued with powers that. Metres Used in Book III. The number of syllables most commonly employed in each standard line of the verse is given. This may vary slightly for effect (two beats substituted for three etc.) in a given line.

• Horse 134
• Horace 1.3.6 Of Education

• Metres Used in Book III. The number of syllables most commonly employed in each standard line of the verse is given. This may vary slightly for effect (two beats substituted for three etc.) in a given line.
• Understand the meaning of Galatians 5:22 using all available Bible versions and commentary. 'But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness.'
• Grandly did the old Scottish believer, of whom Dr. Brown tells us in his 'Horae Subsecivae,' respond to the challenge of her pastor regarding the ground of her confidence. Janet, said the minister, 'what would you say, if after all He has done for you, God should let you drop.
• Jan 04, 2008  This is a quick method for finding the nth term of a series which does not have a regular common difference. The series is: 1,3,6,10,15. The nth term may be expressed as- Tn= an^2 +bn+c.
• 1.3.6 - US Department of Defense Submitted by Harald.T.Alvestrand at uninett.no from host aun.uninett.no (129.241.1.99) using a WWW entry form. Authorization gave nothing. OID value: 1.3.6 OID description: This international (?) organization is significant because it is the parent of the Internet OID. The original registration shows (in part): ICD.

• Sponsor

  Dec 12, 2017 · 1928 commits to master since this release

  Note for upgraders and plugin authors: Change in the bundling of JS assets can lead to issues in plugins

  A change to solve issues with plugins bundling JS assets that cause interference with other plugins (e.g. through the declaration of 'use strict') and in general to add better isolation and error handling might cause errors for some plugins that go beyond your run-off-the-mill view model and also implicitly declare new globals.

  If you happen to run into any such issues, you can switch back to the old way of bundling JS assets via the newly introduced 'Settings > Feature > Enable legacy plugin asset bundling' toggle (check it, save the settings, restart the server). This is provided to allow for a minimally invasive adjustment period until affected plugins have been updated.

  You can find out more about the change, how to know if a plugin is even affected and what do about it on the OctoBlog.

  Improvements

  • #203 - Allow selecting the current tab via URL hashs. Also update URL hash when switching tabs, thus adding this to the browser history and allowing quicker back and forth navigation through the browser's back and forward buttons.
  • #1026 - Automatically upper case parameters in GCODE commands sent from the Terminal tab. A black list is in place that prevent upper casing of parameters for GCODE commands where it doesn't make sense (default: M117). See also #2177.
  • #2050 - New hook octoprint.comm.protocol.temperatures.received that allows plugins to further preprocess/sanitize temperature data received from the printer.
  • #2055 - Increased the size of the API key field in the settings.
  • #2056 - Added a Copy button to the API key field in the settings and user settings.
  • #2094 - Allow UTF-8 display names for uploaded files. The files will still get an ASCII only name on disk, but the UTF-8 name used during upload will also be persisted and shown in the file list. This also allows using emojis in your file and folder names now.
  • #2104 - Allow more URL schemes for installing plugins from. Supported schemes should now mirror what pip itself supports: http, https, git, git+http, git+https, git+ssh, git+git, hg+http, hg+https, hg+static-http, hg+ssh, svn, svn+svn, svn+http, svn+https, svn+ssh, bzr+http, bzr+https, bzr+ssh, bzr+sftp, bzr+ftp, bzr+lp.
  • #2109 - New decorator @firstrun_only_access for API endpoints that should only be available before first setup has been completed.
  • #2111 - Made the file list's scroll bar wider.
  • #2131 - Added warning to restart, shutdown, reboot and update confirmations that that may disrupt ongoing prints, even those run from the printer's internal storage/SD. See also #2146 and #2152.
  • #2138 - Slightly longer timeout when attempting to read from serial during auto detection via programming mode. Might help with detection of some slower printer controllers under certain circumstances.
  • #2200 - Wrap all JS assets of plugins into one anonymous function per plugin. That way plugins using 'use strict'; won't cause hard to debug and weird issues with other plugins bundled after them. The down side is that plugins currently relying on implicit declaration of global helper functions or variables (function convert(value) { .. }) to be available outside of their own plugin's JS assets will now run into errors. To compensate for that while affected plugins are adjusted to declare globals explicitly (window.convert = function(value) { .. }), a temporary feature flag was added as 'Settings > Features > Enable legacy plugin asset bundling' that switches back to the old form of bundling until plugins you rely on are updated. This flag will be removed again in a later version (currently planned for 1.3.8). See also the note above and #2246.
  • #2229 - Added note to printer profile dialog that the nozzle offsets for multi extruder setups are only to be configured if they are not already set in the printer's firmware.
  • #2232 - Disable movement distance buttons when not connected to the printer or when printing, since they don't have any use then.
  • #2239 - Improved the check summing speed, thus improving the general achievable throughput on the comm layer.
  • Allow cancelling of file transfers
  • Made check of how old an unrendered timelapse is more lenient buy looking at both the creation and last modification date and using the younger one.
  • Made notifications in general auto-close faster.
  • Make the first profile saved for a slicer the default profile for that slicer.
  • New command server for testing server connections on the JS test API.
  • New hook octoprint.accesscontrol.keyvalidator that allows plugins to validate their own customized API keys to be used to access OctoPrint.
  • Updated cookiecutter, requests and psutil dependencies.
  • Added safety warning to first run wizard.
  • More error resilience against broken view models.
  • New sub command octoprint safemode. Will set the server.startOnceInSafeMode setting in the config so that the next (re)start of the server after issuing this command will happen in safe mode.
  • New sub command octoprint config effective. Will report the effective config.
  • New centralized plugin blacklist (opt-in). Allows to prevent plugins/certain versions of plugins known to cause crippling issues with the normal operation of OctoPrint to be disabled from loading, if the user has opted to do so in the settings/wizard.
  • Log how to enable serial.log to serial.log if it's disabled. That will hopefully put at least a small dent in the amount of 'It's empty!' responses in tickets ;)
  • Force new Pypi index URL in requirements.txt as an additional work around against old tooling.
  • Prefer plain pip over git for updating OctoPrint.
  • Added environment detection and logging on startup. That should give us more information about the environment to produce a reported bug in.
  • Added OctoPi support plugin that provides information about the detected OctoPi version. Will only load if OctoPi is detected.
  • More dynamic plugin mixin detection. Now using a base class instead of having to list all types manually. Should greatly reduce overhead of adding new mixin types.
  • Support leaf merging for file extension tree, allowing to add new file extensions to types registered by default.
  • Allow non GCODE SD file transfers if registered as machinecode through e.g. a plugin's file extension hook. Caution: This doesn't make streaming arbitrary files to the printer via serial work magically. It merely allows that, it's up to the firmware to actually be able to handle that. Also, the regular GCODE streaming protocol is used, so if the streamed file contains control characters from that (e.g. M29 to signal the end of the streaming process), stuff will break!
  • Added a test button for the online connectivity check.
  • Announcements plugin: Added UTM Tags.
  • Cura plugin: Less not configured yet logging.
  • GCODE viewer: Added advanced options that allow configuring display of bounding boxes, sorting by layers and hiding of empty layers.
  • GCODE viewer: Persist all options to local storage so they will be automatically set again the next time the GCODE viewer is used in the same browser.
  • Software update: Auto-hide 'Everything is up-to-date' notification.
  • Easier copying of terminal contents thanks to dedicated copy button.
  • Timelapse: #2067 - Added rate limiting to z-based timelapse capturing to prevent issues when accidentally leaving this mode on with vase mode prints.
  • Timelapse: Refactored configuration form & added reset button to switch back to currently active settings.
  • Timelapse: Sort timelapses by modification instead of creation time (creation time can be newer if a backup restore was done).
  • Virtual printer: Support configurable ambient temperature for testing.
  • Virtual printer: Support configurable reset lines.
  • Virtual printer: Added new debug trigger trigger_missing_lineno.
  • Virtual printer: Allow empty/None prepared oks, allowing to simulate lost acknowledgements right on start.
  • Docs: #2142 - Added documentation for the bundled virtual printer plugin.
  • Docs: #2234 - Added info on how to install under Suse Linux.
  • Docs: Added example PyCharm run configuration that includes automatic dependency updates on start.
  • Docs: Added information on how to run the test suite.
  • Various refactorings
  • Various documentation updates
  • Fetch plugin blacklist (and also announcements, plugin notices and plugin repository) via https instead of http.

  Bug fixes

  • #2044 - Fix various typos in strings and comments
  • #2048 & #2176 - Fixed various warnings during documentation generation.
  • #2077 - Fix an issue with shared nozzles and the temperature graph, causing temperature to not be reported properly when another tool but the first one is selected. See also #2077
  • #2108 - Added no-op default action to login form so that username + password aren't sent as GET parameters if for some reason the user tries to log in before the view models are properly bound and thus the AJAX POST submission method is attached.
  • #2111 - Prevent file list's scroll bar from fading out.
  • #2146 - Fix initialization of temperature graph if it's not on the first tab due to tab reordering.
  • #2166 - Workaround for a Firefox bug that causes the Drag-n-Drop overlay to never go away if the file is dragged outside of the browser window.
  • #2167 - Fixed grammar of print time estimation tooltip
  • #2175 - Cancel printing when an external reset of the printer is detected on the serial connection.
  • #2181 - More resilience against non-standard M115 responses.
  • #2182 - Don't start tracking non existing or nonfunctional tools if encountering a temperature command referencing said tool. See also kantlivelong/OctoPrint-PSUControl#68.
  • #2196 - Marked API key fields as readonly instead of disabled to allow their contents to be copied in Firefox (which wasn't possible before).
  • #2203 - Reset temperature offsets to 0 when disconnected from the printer.
  • #2206 - Disable pre-configured timelapse if snapshot URL of ffmpeg path are unset.
  • #2214 - Fixed temperature fields not selecting in MS Edge on focus.
  • #2217 - Fix an issue in octoprint.util causing a crash when running under PyPy instead of CPython.
  • #2226 - Handle No Line Number with checksum, Last Line: .. errors from the firmware.
  • #2233 - Respond with 411 Length Required when content length is missing on file uploads.
  • #2242 - Fixed an issue where print time left could show '1 days' instead of '1 day'.
  • #2262 (regression) - Fixed a bug causing Error:checksum mismatch, Last Line: .. errors from the firmware to be handled incorrectly.
  • #2267 (regression) - Fixed a bug causing the GCODE viewer to not get properly initialized due to a JS error on load if 'Also show next layer' was selected.
  • #2268 (regression) - Fixed a bug causing a display error with the temperature offsets. If one offset was changed, all others seemed to revert back to 0.
  • Fixed cleanup of unrendered timelapses with certain names.
  • Fixed a caching issue with the file list API and the slicing API.
  • Fixed initial sizing of the temperature graph.
  • More resilience against corrupt .metadata.yaml files.
  • More resilience against corrupt/invalid entries for system actions.
  • More resilience against invalid JSON command requests.
  • More resilience against broken packages in the python environment.
  • Don't evaluate onWebcamLoaded more than once when switching to the webcam tab.
  • Fixed octoprint config sub command.
  • Fixed deactivated user accounts being able to login (albeit without a persistent session). Show fitting error instead.
  • Fixed temperature auto report after an external reset.
  • Don't log full request headers in Tornado on an error.
  • Fix displayed notification message for synchronous system commands. Was accidentally swapped with the one for asynchronous system commands.
  • GCODE viewer: Fix error on empty layers.
  • Virtual printer: Fix resend simuation.
  • Docs: Fixed CSS of line numbered listings.
  • Docs: Updated mermaid to fix a deprecation warning.
  • Fixed ordering of plugin assets, should be alphabetical based on the plugin identifier. (regression)
  • Fixed an issue causing redundant software update configuration settings to be written to config.yaml, in turn causing issues when downgrading to <1.3.5. (regression)
  • Fixed an issue detecting whether the installed version is a release version or a development version. (regression)

  More Information

  • Release Candidates:
    • A special Thank you! to everyone who reported back on these release candidates this time: andrivet, b-morgan, bjarchi, chippypilot, ChrisHeerschap, cosmith71, Crowlord, ctgreybeard, fiveangle, goeland86, jbjones27, jneilliii, JohnOCFII, Kunsi, Lordxv, malnvenshorn, mcp5500, ntoff, ripp2003 and schorsch3000

  Book III

  Translated by A. S. Kline © Copyright 2003 All Rights Reserved

  This work may be freely reproduced, stored, and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose.

  Translator’s Note

  Horace fully exploited the metrical possibilities offered to him by Greek lyric verse. I have followed the original Latin metre in all cases, giving a reasonably close English version of Horace’s strict forms. Rhythm not rhyme is the essence. Please try reading slowly to identify the rhythm of the first verse of each poem, before reading the whole poem through. Counting syllables, and noting the natural rhythm of individual phrases, may help. Those wishing to understand the precise scansion of Latin lyric verse should consult a specialist text. The Collins Latin Dictionary, for example, includes a good summary. The metres used by Horace in each of the Odes, giving the standard number of syllables per line only, are listed at the end of this text (see the Index below).

  Contents

  BkIII:I Odi Profanum

  I hate the vulgar crowd, and keep them away:

  grant me your silence. A priest of the Muses,

  I sing a song never heard before,

  I sing a song for young women and boys.

  The power of dread kings over their peoples,

  is the power Jove has over those kings themselves,

  famed for his defeat of the Giants,

  controlling all with a nod of his head.

  It’s true that one man will lay out his vineyards

  over wider acres than will his neighbour,

  that one candidate who descends to

  the Campus, will maintain that he’s nobler,

  another’s more famous, or has a larger

  crowd of followers: but Necessity sorts

  the fates of high and low with equal

  justice: the roomy urn holds every name.

  Sicilian feasts won’t supply sweet flavours

  to the man above whose impious head hangs

  a naked sword, nor will the singing

  of birds or the playing of zithers bring back

  soft sleep. But gentle slumber doesn’t despise

  the humble house of a rural labourer,

  or a riverbank deep in the shade,

  or the vale of Tempe, stirred by the breeze.

  He who only longs for what is sufficient,

  is never disturbed by tumultuous seas,

  nor the savage power of Arcturus

  setting, nor the strength of the Kids rising,

  nor his vineyards being lashed by the hailstones,

  nor his treacherous farmland, rain being blamed

  for the state of the trees, the dog-star

  parching the fields, or the cruel winter.

  The fish can feel that the channel’s narrowing,

  when piles are driven deep: the builder, his team

  of workers, the lord who scorns the land

  pour the rubble down into the waters.

  But Fear and Menace climb up to the same place

  where the lord climbs up, and dark Care will not leave

  the bronze-clad trireme, and even sits

  behind the horseman when he’s out riding.

  So if neither Phrygian stone, nor purple,

  brighter than the constellations, can solace

  the grieving man, nor Falernian

  wine, nor the perfumes purchased from Persia,

  why should I build a regal hall in modern

  style, with lofty columns to stir up envy?

  Why should I change my Sabine valley,

  for the heavier burden of excess wealth?

  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.

  BkIII:III Stand Firm

  The passion of the public, demanding what

  is wrong, never shakes the man of just and firm

  intention, from his settled purpose,

  nor the tyrant’s threatening face, nor the winds

  the stormy masters of the troubled Adriatic,

  nor Jupiter’s mighty hand with its lightning:

  if the heavens fractured in their fall,

  still their ruin would strike him, unafraid.

  By these means Pollux, and wandering Hercules,

  in their effort, reached the fiery citadels,

  where Augustus shall recline one day,

  drinking nectar to stain his rosy lips.

  Bacchus, for such virtues your tigers drew you,

  pulling at the yoke holding their untamed necks:

  for these virtues, Romulus, escaped

  with horses that were Mars’, from Acheron,

  while Juno, in the council of the gods, spoke

  welcome words: ‘Ilium, Ilium is in

  the dust, through both Paris’s fatal,

  sinful judgement, and that foreign woman:

  Ilium was mine, and virgin Minerva’s,

  and its citizens, and its treacherous king,

  from the time when Laomedon robbed

  the gods, withholding the payment agreed.

  The infamous guest no longer shines for his

  Spartan adulteress, nor does Priam’s house,

  betrayed, hold back the fierce Achaeans,

  with Hector’s help: now the ten-year battle,

  which our quarrels long extended, is ended.

  From this moment on I’ll abandon my fierce

  anger, and I’ll restore my hated

  grandson, he who was born of a priestess

  of Troy, to Mars: I’ll allow him to enter

  the regions of light, and to drink sweet nectar,

  and to be enrolled, and take his place,

  here, among the quiet ranks of the gods.

  Let the exiles rule happily in any

  place they choose, so long as there’s a width of sea,

  roaring, between Ilium and Rome,

  so long as the cattle trample over

  the tombs of Paris and of Priam, and wild

  beasts hide their offspring there with impunity:

  and let their Capitol stand gleaming,

  let warlike Rome make laws for conquered Medes.

  Let her extend her dreaded name to farthest

  shores, there where the straits separate Africa

  and Europe, there where the swollen Nile

  irrigates the lands beside the river,

  firm in ignoring gold still undiscovered,

  that’s better where it is while earth conceals it,

  than mining it for our human use,

  with hands that grasp everything that’s sacred.

  Whatever marks the boundaries of the world,

  let Rome’s might reach it, eager to see regions

  where solar fires perform their revels,

  or places where the mists and rain pour down.

  But I prophesy such fate for her warlike citizens,

  with this proviso: that they show no excess

  of piety, or faith in their powers,

  wishing to rebuild Troy’s ancestral roofs.

  Troy’s fortunes would revive with evil

  omens, and they’d repeat their sad disaster,

  while I, who am Jove’s wife and sister,

  would lead the victorious armies.

  If her bronze walls were to rise again three times

  with Apollo’s help, three times they’d be destroyed,

  shattered by my Argives, and, three times,

  the captive wife would mourn sons and husband.’

  What are you saying, Muse? This theme doesn’t suit

  the happy lyre. Stop wilfully repeating

  divine conversations, and weakening Modo 901.

  great matters with these trivial metres.

  BkIII:IV Temper Power With Wisdom

  O royal Calliope, come from heaven,

  and play a lengthy melody on the flute,

  or, if you prefer, use your clear voice,

  or pluck at the strings of Apollo’s lute.

  Do you hear her, or does some lovely fancy

  toy with me? I hear, and seem to wander, now,

  through the sacred groves, where delightful

  waters steal, where delightful breezes stray.

  In my childhood, once, on pathless Vultur’s slopes,

  beyond the bounds of nurturing Apulia,

  exhausted with my play and weariness,

  the fabled doves covered me with new leaves,

  which was a wonder to everyone who holds

  Acherontia’s high nest, and Bantia’s

  woodland pastures, and the rich meadows

  of low-lying Forentum, since I slept

  safe from the bears and from the dark vipers,

  the sacred laurel and the gathered myrtle

  spread above me, a courageous child,

  though it was thanks to the power of the gods.

  Yours Muses, yours, I climb the high Sabine Hills,

  or I’m carried off to my cool Praeneste,

  to the slopes of Tibur, if I please,

  or the cloudless loveliness of Baiae.

  A friend of your sacred fountains and your

  choirs, the rout of the army at Philippi

  failed to kill me, and that accursed

  tree, and Palinurus’ Sicilian Sea.

  Whenever you are with me, as a sailor

  I’ll attempt the raging Bosphorus, or be

  a traveller in the burning sands

  of the Syrian shore: as a stranger

  I’ll see the fierce inhospitable Britons,

  the Spaniards that love drinking horses’ blood,

  I’ll see the quiver-bearing Thracians,

  and, unharmed, visit the Scythian stream.

  It’s you then who refresh our noble Caesar,

  in your Pierian caves, when he’s settled

  his weary troops in all the cities,

  and he’s ready to complete his labours.

  You give calm advice, and you delight in that

  giving, kindly ones. We know how the evil

  Titans, how their savage supporters

  were struck down by the lightning from above,

  by him who rules the silent earth, the stormy

  sea, the cities, and the kingdoms of darkness,

  alone, in imperial justice,

  commanding the gods and the mortal crowd.

  Great terror was visited on Jupiter

  by all those bold warriors bristling with hands,

  and by the brothers who tried to set

  Pelion on shadowy Olympus.

  But what power could Giant Typhoeus have,

  or mighty Mimas, or that Porphyrion

  with his menacing stance, Rhoetus,

  or Enceladus, audacious hurler

  of uprooted trees, against the bronze breastplate,

  Minerva’s aegis? On one side stood eager

  Vulcan, on the other maternal

  Juno, and Apollo of Patera

  and Delos, who is never without the bow

  on his shoulder, who bathes his flowing hair

  in Castalia’s pure dew, who holds

  the forests, and thickets of Lycia.

  Power without wisdom falls by its own weight:

  The gods themselves advance temperate power:

  and likewise hate force that, with its whole

  consciousness, is intent on wickedness.

  Let hundred-handed Gyas be the witness

  to my statement: Orion too, well-known as

  chaste Dian’s attacker, and tamed

  by the arrows of the virgin goddess.

  Earth, heaped above her monstrous children, laments

  and grieves for her offspring, hurled down to murky

  Orcus by the lightning bolt: The swift

  fires have not yet eaten Aetna, set there,

  nor the vultures ceased tearing at the liver

  of intemperate Tityus, those guardians placed

  over his sin: and three hundred chains

  hold the amorous Pirithous fast.

  BkIII:V No Surrender

  We believe thunderous Jupiter rules the sky:

  Augustus is considered a god on earth,

  for adding the Britons, and likewise

  the weight of the Persians to our empire.

  Didn’t Crassus’ soldiers live in vile marriage

  with barbarian wives, and (because of our

  Senate and its perverse ways!) grow old,

  in the service of their hostile fathers.

  Marsians , Apulians ruled by a Mede,

  forgetting their shields, Roman names, and togas,

  and eternal Vesta, though Jove’s shrines

  and the city of Rome remained unharmed?

  Regulus’s far-seeing mind warned of this,

  when he objected to shameful surrender,

  and considered from its example

  harm would come to the following age,

  unless captured men were killed without pity.

  ‘I’ve seen standards and weapons,’ he said,

  ‘taken bloodlessly from our soldiers,

  hung there in the Carthaginian shrines,

  I’ve seen the arms of our freemen twisted

  behind their backs, enemy gates wide open,

  and the fields that our warfare ravaged

  being freely cultivated again.

  Do you think that our soldiers ransomed for gold,

  will fight more fiercely next time! You’ll add

  harm to shame: the wool that’s dyed purple

  never regains the colour that vanished,

  and true courage, when once departed, never

  cares to return to an inferior heart.

  When a doe that’s set free, from the thick

  hunting nets, turns to fight, then he’ll be brave

  who trusts himself to treacherous enemies

  and he’ll crush Carthage, in a second battle,

  who’s felt the chains on his fettered wrists,

  without a struggle, afraid of dying.

  He’s one who, not knowing how life should be lived,

  confuses war with peace. O, shame! O mighty

  Carthage, made mightier now because

  of Italy’s disgraceful decadence.’

  It’s said he set aside his wife’s chaste kisses,

  and his little ones, as of less importance,

  and, grimly, he set his manly face

  to the soil, until he might be able

  to strengthen the Senate’s wavering purpose,

  by making of himself an example no

  other man had made, and hurrying,

  among grieving friends, to noble exile.

  Yet he knew what the barbarous torturer

  was preparing for him. Still he pushed aside

  the kinsmen who were blocking his way,

  and the people who delayed his going,

  as if, with some case decided, and leaving

  all that tedious business of his clients,

  he headed for Venafrum’s meadows,

  or Lacedaemonian Tarentum.

  BkIII:VI Moral Decadence

  Romans, though you’re guiltless, you’ll still expiate

  your fathers’ sins, till you’ve restored the temples,

  and the tumbling shrines of all the gods,

  and their images, soiled with black smoke.

  You rule because you are lower than the gods

  you worship: all things begin with them: credit

  them with the outcome. Neglected gods

  have made many woes for sad Italy.

  Already Parthians, and Monaeses

  and Pacorus, have crushed our inauspicious

  assaults, and laugh now to have added

  our spoils to their meagre treasures.

  Dacians and Ethiopians almost toppled

  the City, mired in civil war, the last feared

  for their fleet of ships, and the others

  who are best known for their flying arrows.

  Our age, fertile in its wickedness, has first

  defiled the marriage bed, our offspring, and homes:

  disaster’s stream has flowed from this source

  through the people and the fatherland.

  The young girl early takes delight in learning

  Greek dances, in being dressed with all the arts,

  and soon meditates sinful affairs,

  with every fibre of her new being:

  later at her husband’s dinners she searches

  for younger lovers, doesn’t mind to whom she

  grants all her swift illicit pleasures

  when the lights are far removed, but she rises,

  openly, when ordered to do so, and not

  without her husband’s knowledge, whether it’s for

  some peddler, or Spanish ship’s captain,

  an extravagant buyer of her shame.

  The young men who stained the Punic Sea with blood

  they were not born of such parentage, those who

  struck at Pyrrhus, and struck at great

  Antiochus, and fearful Hannibal:

  they were a virile crowd of rustic soldiers,

  taught to turn the furrow with a Sabine hoe,

  to bring in the firewood they had cut

  at the instruction of their strict mothers.

  when the sun had lengthened the mountain shadows,

  and lifted the yokes from the weary bullocks,

  bringing a welcome time of rest,

  Horse 134

  with the departure of his chariot.

  What do the harmful days not render less?

  Worse than our grandparents’ generation, our

  parents’ then produced us, even worse,

  and soon to bear still more sinful children.

  BkIII:VII Be True

  Why weep, Asterie, for Gyges, whom west winds

  will bring back to you at the first breath of springtime,

  your lover constant in faith,

  blessed with goods, from Bithynia?

  Driven by easterlies as far as Epirus,

  now, after Capella’s wild rising, he passes

  chill nights of insomnia,

  and not without many a tear.

  Yet messages from his solicitous hostess,

  telling how wretched Chloë sighs for your lover,

  and burns with desire, tempts him

  subtly and in a thousand ways.

  She tells how a treacherous woman, making

  false accusations, drove credulous Proteus

  to bring a too-hasty death

  to a too-chaste Bellerophon:

  she tells of Peleus, nearly doomed to Hades,

  fleeing Magnesian Hippolyte in abstinence:

  and deceitfully teaches

  tales that encourage wrongdoing.

  All in vain: still untouched, he hears her voice, as deaf

  as the Icarian cliffs. But take care yourself

  lest Enipeus, next door,

  pleases you more than is proper:

  even though no one else is considered as fine

  at controlling his horse, on the Campus’s turf,

  and no one else swims as fast

  as him, down the Tiber’s channel.

  Close your doors when it’s dark, and don’t you go gazing

  into the street, at the sound of his plaintive flute,

  and when he keeps calling you

  cruel, you still play hard to get.

  BkIII:VIII Celebration

  You, an expert in prose in either language,

  wonder what I, a bachelor, am doing

  on the Kalends of March, what do the flowers mean,

  the box of incense,

  and the embers laid out on the fresh cut turf.

  I vowed sweet meats to Bacchus, vowed a pure white

  goat, at that time when I was so nearly killed

  by a falling tree.

  When this festive day returns again I’ll draw

  a tight-fitting cork, sealed with pitch, from a jar

  laid down to gather the dust in that year when

  Tullus was Consul.

  So drink a whole gallon of wine, Maecenas,

  celebrating your friend’s escape, and we’ll quench

  the flickering lamps at dawn: keep far away

  the noise and anger.

  Leave the cares of state behind in the City:

  Cotiso’s Dacian army’s been destroyed,

  the dangerous Medes are fighting each other,

  in grievous battle,

  our old Cantabrian enemies are slaves,

  subdued, in chains, at last, on the Spanish coast,

  and now the Scythians, their bows unstrung, plan

  to give up their plains.

  A private citizen for now, don’t worry

  yourself, overmuch, what troubles the people,

  and gladly accept the gifts of the moment,

  and forget dark things.

  BkIII:IX A Dialogue

  ‘While I was the man, dear to you,

  while no young man, you loved more dearly, was clasping

  his arms around your snow-white neck,

  I lived in greater blessedness than Persia’s king.’

  ‘While you were on fire for no one

  else, and Lydia was not placed after Chloë,

  I, Lydia, of great renown,

  lived more gloriously than Roman Ilia.’

  ‘Thracian Chloe commands me now,

  she’s skilled in sweet verses, she’s the queen of the lyre,

  for her I’m not afraid to die,

  if the Fates spare her, and her spirit survives me.’

  ‘I’m burnt with a mutual flame

  by Calais, Thurian Ornytus’s son,

  for whom I would die twice over

  if the Fates spare him, and his spirit survives me.’

  ‘What if that former love returned,

  and forced two who are estranged under her bronze yoke:

  if golden Chloë was banished,

  and the door opened to rejected Lydia?’

  ‘Though he’s lovelier than the stars,

  and you’re lighter than cork, and more irascible

  than the cruel Adriatic,

  I’d love to live with you, with you I’d gladly die!’

  BkIII:X Cruel One

  If you drank the water of furthest Don, Lyce,

  married to some fierce husband, you’d still expose me

  to the wailing winds of your native North country,

  stretched out here by your cruel door.

  Hear how the frame creaks, how the trees that are planted

  inside your beautiful garden moan in the wind,

  and how Jupiter’s pure power and divinity

  ices over the fallen snow.

  Set aside your disdain, it’s hateful to Venus,

  lest the rope fly off, while the wheel is still turning:

  you’re no Penelope, resistant to suitors,

  nor born of Etruscan parents.

  O, spare your suppliants, though nothing moves you,

  not gifts, not my prayers, not your lover’s pallor,

  that’s tinged with violet, nor your husband smitten

  with a Pierian mistress,

  you, no more pliant than an unbending oak-tree,

  no gentler in spirit than a Moorish serpent.

  My body won’t always put up with your threshold,

  or the rain that falls from the sky.

  BkIII:XI Remember the Danaids

  Mercury (since, taught by you, his master,

  Amphion could move the stones, with his singing),

  and you, tortoise shell, clever at making your

  seven strings echo,

  you, who were neither eloquent nor lovely,

  but welcomed, now, by rich tables and temples,

  play melodies to which Lyde might apply

  a reluctant ear,

  who gambols friskily, like a three year old

  filly, over the widening plain, fears being

  touched, a stranger to marriage, who’s not yet ripe

  for a forceful mate.

  You’ve the power to lead tigers and forests as

  attendants, and hold back the swift-running streams:

  Cerberus, the frightful doorkeeper of Hell,

  yielded to your charms,

  though a hundred snakes guarded his fearful head,

  and a hideous breath flowed out of his mouth

  and poisoned venom was frothing around

  his triple-tongued jaws.

  Even Ixion and Tityos smiled, with

  unwilling faces, and, for a little while,

  the urns were dry, as your sweet song delighted

  Danaus’ daughters.

  Lyde should listen to those girls’ wickedness

  and their punishment, it’s well known: their wine jars

  empty, water vanishing through the bottom:

  that fate long-delayed

  that still waits for wrongdoers down in Orcus.

  Impious (what worse could they have committed?)

  impious, they had the power to destroy their

  lovers with cruel steel.

  Hypermnestra alone of the many was

  worthy of marriage, splendidly deceiving

  her lying father, a girl rendered noble

  for ages to come,

  ‘Up, up,’ she cried to her young husband, ‘lest sleep,

  that lasts forever, comes, to you, from a source

  you wouldn’t expect: escape from my father,

  my wicked sisters,

  ah, they’re like lionesses who each has seized

  a young bullock, and tears at it: I, gentler

  than them, will never strike you, or hold you

  under lock and key.

  Let my father weigh me down with cruel chains,

  because in mercy I spared my wretched man:

  let him banish me in a ship to the far

  Numidian lands.

  Go, wherever your feet and the winds take you,

  while Venus, and Night, both favour you: luck be

  with you: and carve an epitaph on my tomb,

  in fond memory.

  BkIII:XII Neobule, to Herself

  Girls are wretched who can’t allow free play to love, or drown their cares

  with sweet wine, those who, terrified, go around in fear of a tongue

  lashing from one of their uncles.

  Neobule, Cytherea’s winged boy snatches your wool stuff away

  and your work, your devotion to busy Minerva, whenever

  shining Liparean Hebrus,

  that lover of yours, has bathed his oiled shoulders in Tiber’s waters,

  even better a horseman than Bellerephon, never beaten

  through slowness of fists or of feet,

  clever too at spearing the deer, as they pour, in a startled herd,

  across the wide open spaces, and quick to come at the wild boar

  as it lurks in the dense thicket.

  BkIII:XIII O Fons Bandusiae

  O Bandusian fountain, brighter than crystal,

  worthy of sweet wine, not lacking in flowers,

  tomorrow we’ll honour you

  with a kid, whose brow is budding

  with those horns that are destined for love and battle.

  All in vain: since this child of the playful herd will

  darken your ice-cool waters,

  with the stain of its crimson blood.

  The implacable hour of the blazing dog-star

  knows no way to touch you, you offer your lovely

  coolness to bullocks, weary

  of ploughing, and to wandering flocks.

  And you too will be one of the famous fountains,

  now I write of the holm oak that’s rooted above

  the cave in the rock where your

  clear babbling waters run down.

  BkIII:XIV Augustus Returns

  O citizens, conquering Caesar is home

  from the Spanish shores, who, like Hercules, now

  was said to be seeking that laurel, that’s bought

  at the price of death.

  May his wife rejoice in a matchless husband,

  having sacrificed to true gods, appear now

  with our famous leader’s sister, and, all dressed

  in holy ribbons,

  the mothers of virgins and youths, now safe and

  sound. And you, O you boys and you young girls who

  are still without husbands, spare us any of

  your ill-omened words

  This day will be a true holiday for me,

  and banish dark care: I’ll not fear civil war,

  nor sudden death by violence, while Caesar has

  command of the earth.

  Go, now, you boys, seek out perfumes and garlands

  and a jar that’s old as the Marsian War,

  if any of them have managed to escape

  Spartacus’s eyes.

  And tell that graceful Neaera to hurry

  and fasten all her perfumed hair in a knot:

  if her hateful doorkeeper causes

  delay, come away.

  My greying hair softens a spirit eager

  for arguments and passionate fights:

  I’d not have endured it in my hot youth, while

  Plancus was Consul.

  BkIII:XV Too Old

  O, dear wife of poor Ibycus,

  put an end to your wickedness, at last, and all

  of your infamous goings-on:

  now you are nearer the season for dying,

  stop playing about with the girls,

  and scattering a mist over shining stars.

  What fits Pholoe is not quite

  fitting for you, Chloris: while your daughter’s more

  suited to storming the houses of lovers,

  like a Bacchante stirred by the beating drum.

  Her love for Nothus forces her

  to gambol like a lascivious she-goat:

  the wool that’s shorn near to noble

  Luceria’s fitting for you, sad old thing,

  not the dark red flower of the rose,

  nor the lyre, nor the wine-jars drained to their dregs.

  BkIII:XVI Just Enough

  The towers made of bronze, and the doors made of oak,

  and the watch-dogs sombre vigil, would, surely, have

  been enough, to protect imprisoned Danaë,

  from adulterers in the night,

  if Jupiter, and then Venus, hadn’t been laughing

  at Acrisius, the girl’s anxious guardian:

  since they knew that the path would be safe and open,

  with the god as a shower of gold.

  Gold loves to travel in the midst of fine servants,

  and break through the rocks, since it’s far more powerful

  than lightning bolts: didn’t the Greek prophet’s house fall

  because of his riches, and sink

  to ruin: and with gifts, the Macedonian

  burst the gates of the cities, brought rival kingdoms

  to destruction: and gifts of gold, too, are able

  to snare fierce naval commanders.

  Anxiety, and the hunger for more, pursues

  growing wealth. It’s right, then, that I shrank from raising

  my head to be seen far and wide, dear Maecenas,

  glory of the Equestrians.

  The more that a man denies himself, then the more

  will flow from the gods: so naked, I seek the camp

  of those who ask for nothing, I’m a deserter,

  eager to abandon the rich,

  a more glorious lord of the wealth that I spurn,

  than if it were said I conceal, deep in my barns,

  whatever the busy Apulians harvest:

  destitute among great riches.

  A stream of pure water, a few woodland acres,

  and a confident faith in the crops from my fields,

  are more blessed than the fate that deceives the shining

  master of fertile Africa.

  Though it’s true the Calabrian bees don’t bring me

  their honey, and no Laestrygonian wine-jar

  mellows for me, with no glossy fleece thickening

  for me in the pastures of Gaul:

  yet there’s still no presence of grinding poverty,

  nor if I wished for more would you deny it me.

  I can eke out my income more effectively

  by constraining what I desire,

  than if I were to join the Mygdonian plains

  to the Lydian kingdom. To those who want much,

  much is lacking: he’s happy to whom the god grants

  just enough, from a careful hand.

  BkIII:XVII The Approaching Storm

  Aelius, noble descendant of ancient

  Lamus (and they say the Lamiae of old

  Horace 1.3.6 Of Education

  were named from him, the ancestral line,

  through all of our recorded history):

  you come from him, the original founder,

  who, it’s said, first held the walls of Formiae

  and Latium’s River Liris where

  it floods the shores of the nymph, Marica,

  he the lord, far and wide. Tomorrow a storm

  sent from the East, will fill all the woodland grove

  with leaves, and the sands with useless weed,

  unless the raven, old prophet of rain,

  is wrong. Pile up the dry firewood while you can:

  tomorrow, with your servants, released from their

  labours, cheer your spirit with neat wine,

  and a little pig, only two months old.

  BkIII:XVIII To Faunus

  Faunus, the lover of Nymphs who are fleeing,

  may you pass gently over my boundaries,

  my sunny fields, and, as you go by, be kind

  to all my new-born,

  if at the end of the year a tender kid

  is sacrificed to you: if the full bowls of wine,

  aren’t lacking, friend of Venus: the old altar

  smoking with incense.

  All the flock gambols over the grassy plain,

  when the fifth of December returns for you:

  the festive village empties into the fields,

  and the idle herd:

  the wolf wanders among the audacious lambs:

  for you the woods, wildly, scatter their leaves:

  the ditcher delights in striking the soil he

  hates, in triple time.

  BkIII:XIX Let’s Drink

  You can tell me the years between

  Inachus and Codrus, who wasn’t afraid to

  die for his country, Aeacus’

  line, and the fights by the walls at sacred Troy:

  but you can’t say what price we’ll pay

  for a jar of Chian wine, who’ll heat the water,

  or under whose roof, at what time,

  I can escape at last from Paelignian cold.

  Don’t wait: drink to the new moon, boy,

  to the midnight hour, to the augur, Murena:

  the wine is mixed in three measures,

  or nine, depending which of the two is fitting.

  The poet, inspired, who’s in love

  with the odd-numbered Muses, will ask for three times

  three: fearing our quarrels, the Grace,

  who ’ s hand in hand with her naked sisters, forbids

  more than triple. I like to rave:

  why have the blasts of the Berecyntian flute

  fallen silent? Why is the pipe

  hanging there speechless, next door to the speechless lyre?

  I dislike those hands that refrain:

  scatter rose petals: and let envious Lycus

  hear our demented noise-making,

  and the girl who’s next door, who won’t suit old Lycus.

  Ripe Rhode is searching for you,

  Telephus, you with the glistening hair, oh you,

  who are like the pure evening star:

  while a slow love, for Glycera, has me on fire.

  BkIII:XX The Conflict

  Pyrrhus, you can’t see how dangerous it is

  to touch the Gaetulian lioness’ cub?

  Soon you’ll be running from all that hard fighting,

  a spiritless thief,

  while she goes searching for lovely Nearchus,

  through obstructive crowds of young men: ah, surely

  the fight will be great, whether the prize is yours,

  or, more likely, hers.

  Meanwhile, as you produce your swift arrows, as

  she is sharpening her fearsome teeth, the battle’s

  fine judge is said to have trampled the palm leaf,

  beneath his bare foot,

  and he’s cooling his shoulders, draped in perfumed

  hair, in the gentle breeze, just like Nireus,

  or like Ganymede, who was snatched away from

  Ida rich in streams.

  BkIII:XXI Praise Of Wine

  Faithful wine-jar, born, with me, in Manlius’

  Consulship, whether you bring moans or laughter,

  whether you bring mad love, and quarrels,

  or whether you bring us gentle slumber,

  whatever the end of the vintage Massic

  you guard, that’s worthy of some auspicious day,

  be emptied, Corvinus orders us

  to bring out a much less powerful wine.

  You apply gentle torture to wits that are

  mostly dull: you reveal the cares of the wise,

  and you uncover their secret thoughts,

  by means of Bacchus’ happy pleasantries:

  you bring fresh hope to those minds that are distressed,

  and grant the poor man strength and courage, through you

  he no longer trembles at the crowns

  of angry kings, nor at soldiers’ weapons.

  You, Bacchus, and delightful Venus, if she

  would come, the Graces, reluctant to dissolve

  their knot, and the bright lamps, will be here,

  till Phoebus puts the stars to flight again.

  BkIII:XXII To Diana

  Virgin protectress of the mountain and the grove,

  who, called on three times, hears young girls, labouring

  through childbirth, and rescues them from dying, O

  triple formed goddess,

  may it be yours, this pine-tree above my farm,

  so that I may, happily, through passing years,

  offer it the blood of a boar, that’s trying

  its first sidelong thrusts.

  BkIII:XXIII Pure Hands

  Phidyle, my country girl, if you raise your

  upturned palms to heaven, at the new-born moon,

  if you placate the Lares with corn

  from this year’s harvest, with a greedy pig:

  your fruiting vines won’t suffer the destructive

  southerlies, nor your crops the killing mildew,

  nor will the young of the flock be born

  in that sickly season, heavy with fruit.

  Since the destined victim, grazing, on snowy

  Algidus, amongst the oak and ilex trees,

  or fattening in the Alban meadows,

  will stain the axes of the priest with blood:

  there’s no need for you to try and influence

  the gods, with repeated sacrifice of sheep

  while you crown their tiny images

  with rosemary, and the brittle myrtle.

  If pure hands have touched the altar, even though

  they’ve not gratified with lavish sacrifice,

  they’ll mollify hostile Penates,

  with the sacred corn, and the dancing grain.

  BkIII:XXIV Destructive Wealth

  Though you’re richer than the untouched

  riches of Araby, than wealthy India,

  and you fill the land, and inshore

  waters, with your deposits of builders’ rubble:

  if dread Necessity fixes

  her adamantine nails in your highest rooftops,

  you’ll not free your spirit from fear,

  nor free your very being from the noose of death.

  Better to live like Scythians

  in the Steppes, whose wagons haul their movable homes,

  that’s custom, or the fierce Getae,

  whose unallocated acres produce their fruits,

  their harvests of rye, in common,

  where cultivation’s not decided for more than

  a year, and when one turn is done,

  it’s carried on by other hands, as a duty.

  There, as their own, the unselfish

  women raise those children who have lost their mothers:

  and the richly dowered wife never

  rules her husband, or believes in shining lovers.

  Their greatest dowry’s their parents’

  virtue, and their own chastity, which is careful

  of another’s husband, in pure

  loyalty, sin is wrong and death’s its penalty.

  O whoever would end impious

  killing, and civil disorder, and would desire

  to have ‘City Father’ inscribed

  on their statues, let them be braver, and rein in

  unbridled licence, and win fame

  among posterity: since we, alas, for shame,

  filled with envy, hate chaste virtue,

  and only seek it when it’s hidden from our eyes.

  What use are sad lamentations,

  if crime is never suppressed by its punishment?

  What use are all these empty laws

  without the behaviour that should accompany them?

  if neither those parts of the Earth

  enclosed by heat, nor those far confines of the North,

  snow frozen solid on the ground,

  deter the trader, if cunning sailors conquer

  the stormy seas, if poverty,

  is considered a great disgrace, and directs us

  to do and to bear everything,

  and abandon the arduous paths of virtue?

  Let’s send our jewels, our precious

  stones, our destructive gold, to the Capitol, while

  the crowd applauds, and raises its strident clamour,

  or ship them to the nearest sea,

  as causes of our deepest ills,

  if we truly repent of all our wickedness.

  Let the source of our perverted

  greed be lost, and then let our inadequate minds

  be trained in more serious things.

  The inexperienced noble youth is unskilled

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  at staying in the saddle, he

  fears to hunt, and he’s much better at playing games,

  whether you order him to fool

  with a Greek hoop, or you prefer forbidden dice,

  while his father’s perjured trust cheats

  his partner and his friends, hurrying to amass

  money for his unworthy heir.

  While it’s true that in this way his ill-gotten gains

  increase, yet there’s always something

  lacking in a fortune forever incomplete.

  BkIII:XXV Bacchanalian Song

  Where are you taking me, Bacchus,

  now I’m full of you? To what caves or groves, driven,

  swiftly, by new inspiration?

  In what caverns will I be heard planning to set

  illustrious Caesar’s lasting

  glory among the stars, in the councils of Jove?

  I’ll sing a recent achievement,

  not yet sung by other lips. So does the sleepless

  Bacchante, stand in amazement

  on a mountain-ridge, gazing at Hebrus, at Thrace,

  shining with snow, at Rhodope,

  trodden by barbarous feet, even as I like

  to wander gazing, at river

  banks, and echoing groves. O master of Naiads,

  of Bacchae owning the power

  to uproot the tallest ash-trees, with their bare hands,

  I’ll sing nothing trivial, no

  humble measure, nothing that dies. O, Lenaeus,

  the danger of following a god

  is sweet, wreathing my brow with green leaves of the vine.

  BkIII:XXVI Enough

  I was suited to sweethearts till now, and performed

  my service, not without glory: but now this wall

  that protects the left flank of Venus,

  the girl from the sea, shall have my weapons,

  and hold up the lyre that has finished with warfare.

  Here, O here, place the shining torches, and set up

  the crowbars, and set up the axes,

  so that they menace opposite doorways.

  O goddess, you who possess rich Cyprus, O queen,

  who holds Memphis, that’s free of Sithonian snows,

  touch, just for once, arrogant Chloë,

  touch her, just once, with your whip, lifted high.

  BkIII:XXVII Europa

  Let the wicked be led by omens of screeching

  from owls, by pregnant dogs, or a grey-she wolf,

  hurrying down from Lanuvian meadows,

  or a fox with young:

  May a snake disturb the journey they’ve started,

  terrifying the ponies like an arrow

  

  flashing across the road: but I far-seeing

  augur, with prayer

  for him whom I’m fearful for, out of the east

  I’ll call up the ominous raven, before

  the bird that divines the imminent showers

  seeks standing water.

  Galatea, wherever you choose to live

  may you be happy, and live in thought of me:

  no woodpecker on your left, or errant crow

  to bar your going.

  But see, with what storms flickering Orion

  is setting. I know how the Adriatic’s

  black gulf can be, and how the bright westerly

  wind commits its sins.

  Let the wives and children of our enemy

  feel the blind force of the rising southerly,

  and the thunder of the dark waters, the shores

  trembling at the blow.

  So, Europa entrusted her snow-white form

  to the bull’s deceit, and the brave girl grew pale,

  at the sea alive with monsters, the dangers

  of the deep ocean.

  Leaving the meadow, where, lost among flowers,

  she was weaving a garland owed to the Nymphs,

  now, in the luminous night, she saw nothing

  but water and stars.

  As soon as she reached the shores of Crete, mighty

  with its hundred cities, she cried: ‘O father,

  I’ve lost the name of daughter, my piety

  conquered by fury.

  Where have I come from, where am I going? One

  death is too few for a virgin’s sin. Am I

  awake, weeping a vile act, or free from guilt,

  mocked by a phantom,

  that fleeing, false, from the ivory gate brings

  only a dream? Is it not better to pick

  fresh flowers than to go travelling over

  the breadths of the sea?

  If anyone now could deliver that foul

  beast to my anger, I’d attempt to wound it

  with steel, and shatter the horns of that monster,

  the one I once loved.

  I’m shameless, I’ve abandoned my country’s gods,

  I’m shameless, I keep Orcus waiting. O if

  one of the gods can hear, I wish I might walk

  naked with lions!

  Before vile leanness hollows my lovely cheeks,

  and the juices ebb in this tender victim,

  while I am still beautiful, I’ll seek to be

  food for the tigers.

  My absent father urges me on: ‘Why wait

  to die, worthless Europa? Happily you

  can hang by the neck from this ash-tree: use

  the sash that’s with you.

  Or if cliffs and the sharpened rocks attract you,

  as a means of death, put your trust in the speed

  of the wind, unless you’d rather be carding

  some mistress’s wool,

  you, of royal blood, be handed over, as

  concubine to a barbarous queen.’ She moaned:

  Venus was laughing, treacherously, with her

  son, his bow unstrung.

  When she’d toyed enough with her, she said: ‘Refrain

  from anger and burning passion, when the bull,

  you hate, yields you his horns again, so that you

  can start to wound them.

  Don’t you know you’re invincible Jupiter’s

  wife. Stop your sobbing, and learn to carry your

  good fortune well: a continent of the Earth

  will be named for you.

  BkIII:XXVIII For Neptune

  What better thing is there to do,

  on Neptune’s festive day? Lyde, brisk now, bring up

  Caecuban wine, from my reserve,

  and apply some pressure to wisdom’s defences.

  You can see the day is dying,

  and yet, as if the flying hours were standing still,

  you’re slow to fetch from the cellar

  that wine-jar put down in Bibulus’ Consulship.

  We’ll sing, one after the other,

  I, of Neptune, I, the Nereids’ sea-green hair:

  you reply on the curving lyre

  with Latona, and Cynthia’s speeding arrows:

  we’ll end the song with she who holds

  Cnidos, the shining Cyclades, she who visits

  Paphos: Venus, drawn by her swans:

  and we’ll celebrate night too, with a fitting song.

  BkIII:XXIX Fortune

  Maecenas, son of Etruscan kings, a jar

  of mellow wine, that nobody’s touched, awaits

  you, at my house, and with rose-petals,

  and balsam, for your hair, squeezed from the press.

  Escape from what delays you: don’t always be

  thinking of moist Tibur, and of Aefula’s

  sloping fields, and of the towering heights

  of Telegonus, who killed his father.

  Forget the fastidiousness of riches,

  and those efforts to climb to the lofty clouds,

  stop being so amazed by the smoke,

  and the wealth, and the noise, of thriving Rome.

  A change usually pleases the rich: a meal

  that’s simple beneath a poor man’s humble roof,

  without the tapestries and purple,

  smooths the furrows on a wrinkled forehead.

  Already Cepheus, Andromeda’s bright

  father, shows his hidden fires, and now Procyon

  rages, and Leo’s furious stars,

  as the sun returns with his parching days:

  Now the shepherd, with his listless flock, searches

  for the shade, and the stream and the thickets

  of shaggy Silvanus, the silent banks

  lack even the breath of a wandering breeze.

  You’re worrying about state politics,

  and, anxious about the City, you’re fretting

  what the Seres, and Bactra, Cyrus

  once ruled, and troublesome Don, are plotting.

  The wise god buries the future’s outcome deep

  in shadowy night, and smiles at those mortals

  who are agitated far beyond

  what’s sensible. Remember, with calmness,

  reconcile yourself to what is: the rest is

  carried along like a river, gliding now,

  peacefully, in mid-stream, and down

  to the Tuscan Sea, now rolling around

  polished stones, uprooted trees, the flocks, and homes

  together, with the echoes from the mountains,

  and the neighbouring woods, while the wild

  deluge stirs the peaceful tributaries.

  He’s happy, he’s his own master, who can say

  each day: ‘I’ve lived: tomorrow, the Father may

  fill the heavens with darkening cloud,

  or fill the sky with radiant sunshine:

  yet he can’t render whatever is past as

  null and void, he can never seek to alter,

  or return and undo, whatever

  the fleeting moment tosses behind it.

  Fortune takes delight in her cruel business,

  determined to play her extravagant games,

  and she alters her fickle esteem,

  now kind to me, and, now, to some other.

  I praise her while she’s here: but if she flutters

  her swift wings, I resign the gifts she gave, wrap

  myself in virtue, and woo honest

  Poverty, even though she’s no dowry.

  When the masts are groaning in African gales,

  it’s not for me to ask in wretched prayer,

  that my Cyprian and Tyrian

  wares should be saved entire not add new wealth

  to the greedy sea: and then the light breezes,

  Pollux, and Castor his brother, carry me

  safely through the stormy Aegean,

  all with the aid of my double-oared skiff.

  BkIII:XXX Aere Perennius

  I’ve raised a monument, more durable than bronze,

  one higher than the Pyramids’ royal towers,

  that no devouring rain, or fierce northerly gale,

  has power to destroy: nor the immeasurable

  succession of years, and the swift passage of time.

  I’ll not utterly die, but a rich part of me,

  will escape Persephone: and fresh with the praise

  of posterity, I’ll rise, beyond. While the High

  Priest, and the silent Virgin, climb the Capitol,

  I’ll be famous, I, born of humble origin,

  (from where wild Aufidus roars, and where Daunus once,

  lacking in streams, ruled over a rural people)

  as the first to re-create Aeolian song

  in Italian verse. Melpomene, take pride,

  in what has been earned by your merit, and, Muse,

  willingly, crown my hair, with the Delphic laurel.

  Index of First Lines

  Metres Used in Book III.

  The number of syllables most commonly employed in each standard line of the verse is given. This may vary slightly for effect (two beats substituted for three etc.) in a given line.

  Alcaic Strophe : 11 (5+6) twice, 9, 10

  used in Odes: 1-6,17,21,23,26,29

  Sapphic and Adonic : 11(5+6) three times, 5

  Odes: 8,11,14,18,20,22,27

  First Asclepiadean : 12 (6+6) all lines

  Ode: 30

  Second Asclepiadean: 8, 12 (6+6), alternating

  Odes: 9,15,19,24,25,28

  Third Asclepiadean : 12 (6+6) three times, 8

  Odes 10,16

  Fourth Asclepiadean : 12 (6+6) twice, 7, 8

  Odes: 7,13

  Fifth Asclepiadean : 16 (6+4+6) all lines

  Odes: None in Book III

  Alcmanic Strophe : 17 (7+10) or less, 11 or less, alternating

  Odes: None in Book III

  First Archilochian : 17 (7+10) or less, 7 alternating

  Odes: None in Book III

  Fourth Archilochian Strophe : 18 (7+11) or less, 11 (5+6) alternating

  Odes: None in Book III

  Second Sapphic Strophe : 7, 15 (5+10) alternating

  Odes: None in Book III

  Trochaic Strophe : 7,11 alternating

  Odes: None in Book III

  Ionic a Minore : 16 twice, 8

  Ode: 12