by Homer
To meet men’s curses with a hero’s front:
“Folks hiss me,” said he, “but myself I clap
When I tell o’er my treasures on my lap.”
So Tantalus catches at the waves that fly
His thirsty palate — Laughing, are you? why?
Change but the name, of you the tale is told:
You sleep, mouth open, on your hoarded gold;
Gold that you treat as sacred, dare not use,
In fact, that charms you as a picture does.
Come, will you hear what wealth can fairly do?
‘Twill buy you bread, and vegetables too,
And wine, a good pint measure: add to this
Such needful things as flesh and blood would miss.
But to go mad with watching, nights and days
To stand in dread of thieves, fires, runaways
Who filch and fly, — in these if wealth consist,
Let me rank lowest on the paupers’ list.
“But if you suffer from a chill attack,
Or other chance should lay you on your back,
You then have one who’ll sit by your bed-side,
Will see the needful remedies applied,
And call in a physician, to restore
Your health, and give you to your friends once more.”
Nor wife nor son desires your welfare: all
Detest you, neighbours, gossips, great and small.
What marvel if, when wealth’s your one concern,
None offers you the love you never earn?
Nay, would you win the kinsmen Nature sends
Made ready to your hand, and keep them friends,
‘Twere but lost labour, as if one should train
A donkey for the course by bit and rein.
Make then an end of getting: know, the more
Your wealth, the less the risk of being poor;
And, having gained the object of your quest,
Begin to slack your efforts and take rest;
Nor act like one Ummidius (never fear,
The tale is short, and ’tis the last you’ll hear),
So rich, his gold he by the peck would tell,
So mean, the slave that served him dressed as well;
E’en to his dying day he went in dread
Of perishing for simple want of bread,
Till a brave damsel, of Tyndarid line
The true descendant, clove him down the chine.
“What? would you have me live like some we know,
Maenius or Nomentanus?” There you go!
Still in extremes! in bidding you forsake
A miser’s ways, I say not, Be a rake.
‘Twixt Tanais and Visellius’ sire-in-law
A step there is, and broader than a straw.
Yes, there’s a mean in morals: life has lines,
To north or south of which all virtue pines.
Now to resume our subject: why, I say,
Should each man act the miser in his way,
Still discontented with his natural lot,
Still praising those who have what he has not?
Why should he waste with very spite, to see
His neighbour has a milkier cow than he,
Ne’er think how much he’s richer than the mass,
But always strive this man or that to pass?
In such a contest, speed we as we may,
There’s some one wealthier ever in the way.
So from their base when vying chariots pour,
Each driver presses on the car before,
Wastes not a thought on rivals overpast,
But leaves them to lag on among the last.
Hence comes it that the man is rarely seen
Who owns that his a happy life has been,
And, thankful for past blessings, with good will
Retires, like one who has enjoyed his fill.
Enough: you’ll think I’ve rifled the scrutore
Of blind Crispinus, if I prose on more.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Satire IX. Ibam forte via sacra.
Long the Sacred Road I strolled one day,
Deep in some bagatelle (you know my way),
When up comes one whose name I scarcely knew —
“The dearest of dear fellows! how d’ye do?”
He grasped my hand— “Well, thanks: the same to you.”
Then, as he still kept walking by my side,
To cut things short, “You’ve no commands?” I cried.
“Nay, you should know me: I’m a man of lore.”
“Sir, I’m your humble servant all the more.”
All in a fret to make him let me go,
I now walk fast, now loiter and walk slow,
Now whisper to my servant, while the sweat
Ran down so fast, my very feet were wet.
“O had I but a temper worth the name,
Like yours, Bolanus!” inly I exclaim,
While he keeps running on at a hand-trot,
About the town, the streets, I know not what.
Finding I made no answer, “Ah! I see,
Tou ‘re at a strait to rid yourself of me;
But ’tis no use: I’m a tenacious friend,
And mean to hold you till your journey’s end,”
“No need to take you such a round: I go
To visit an acquaintance you don’t know:
Poor man! he’s ailing at his lodging, far
Beyond the bridge, where Caesar’s gardens are.”
“O, never mind: I’ve nothing else to do,
And want a walk, so I’ll step on with you.”
Down go my ears, in donkey-fashion, straight;
You’ve seen them do it, when their load’s too great.
“If I mistake not,” he begins, “you’ll find
Viscus not more, nor Varius, to yoar mind:
There’s not a man can turn a verse so soon,
Or dance so nimbly when he hears a tune:
While, as for singing — ah! my forte is there:
Tigellius’ self might envy me, I’ll swear.”
He paused for breath: I falteringly strike in:
“Have you a mother? have you kith or kin
To whom your life is precious?” “Not a soul:
My line’s extinct: I have interred the whole.”
O happy they! (so into thought I fell)
After life’s endless babble they sleep well:
My turn is next: dispatch me: for the weird
Has come to pass which I so long have feared,
The fatal weird a Sabine beldame sung,
All in my nursery days, when life was young:
“No sword nor poison e’er shall take him off,
Nor gout, nor pleurisy, nor racking cough:
A babbling tongue shall kill him: let him fly
All talkers, as he wishes not to die.”
We got to Vesta’s temple, and the sun
Told us a quarter of the day was done.
It chanced he had a suit, and was bound fast
Either to make appearance or be cast.
“Step here a moment, if you love me.” “Nay;
I know no law: ’twould hurt my health to stay:
And then, my call.” “I’m doubting what to do,
Whether to give my lawsuit up or you.
“Me, pray!” “I will not.” On he strides again:
I follow, unresisting, in his train.
“How stand you with Maecenas?” he began:
“He picks his friends with care; a shrewd wise man:
In fact, I take it, one could hardly name
A head so cool in life’s exciting game.
’Twould be a good deed done, if you could throw
Your servant in his way; I mean, you know,
Just to play second: in a month, I’ll swear,
You’d make an end of every r
ival there.”
“O, you mistake: we don’t live there in league:
I know no house more sacred from intrigue:
I’m never distanced in my friend’s good grace
By wealth or talent: each man finds his place.”
“A miracle! if ‘twere not told by you,
I scarce should credit it.” “And yet ’tis true.”
“Ah, well, you double my desire to rise
To special favour with a man so wise.”
“You’ve but to wish it: ‘twill be your own fault,
If, with your nerve, you win not by assault:
He can be won: that puts him on his guard,
And so the first approach is always hard.”
“No fear of me, sir: a judicious bribe
Will work a wonder with the menial tribe:
Say, I’m refused admittance for to-day;
I’ll watch my time; I’ll meet him in the way,
Escort him, dog him. In this world of ours
The path to what we want ne’er runs on flowers.”
‘Mid all this prate there met us, as it fell,
Aristius, my good friend, who knew him well.
We stop: inquiries and replies go round:
“Where do you hail from?” “Whither are you bound?”
There as he stood, impassive as a clod,
I pull at his limp arms, frown, wink, and nod,
To urge him to release me. With a smile
He feigns stupidity: I burn with bile.
“Something there was you said you wished to tell
To me in private.” “Ay, I mind it well;
But not just now: ’tis a Jews’ fast to-day:
Affront a sect so touchy! nay, friend, nay.”
“Faith, I’ve no scruples.” “Ah! but I’ve a few:
I’m weak, you know, and do as others do:
Some other time: excuse me.” Wretched me!
That ever man so black a sun should see!
Off goes the rogue, and leaves me in despair,
Tied to the altar, with the knife in air:
When, by rare chance, the plaintiff in the suit
Knocks up against us: “Whither now, you brute?”
He roars like thunder: then to me: “You’ll stand
My witness, sir?” “My ear’s at your command.”
Off to the court he drags him: shouts succeed:
A mob collects: thank Phoebus, I am freed.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Ode 1.5 Quis multa gracilis.
Translated by John Conington
What slender youth, besprinkled with perfume,
Courts you on roses in some grotto’s shade?
Fair Pyrrha, say, for whom
Your yellow hair you braid,
So trim, so simple! Ah! how oft shall he
Lament that faith can fail, that gods can change,
Viewing the rough black sea
With eyes to tempests strange,
Who now is basking in your golden smile,
And dreams of you still fancy-free, still kind,
Poor fool, nor knows the guile
Of the deceitful wind!
Woe to the eyes you dazzle without cloud
Untried! For me, they show in yonder fane
My dripping garments, vow’d
To Him who curbs the main.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Ode I.11 Tu ne quaesieris. (‘The Carpe Diem Poem’)
Ask not (’tis forbidden knowledge), what our destined term of years,
Mine and yours; nor scan the tables of your Babylonish seers.
Better far to bear the future, my Leuconoe, like the past,
Whether Jove has many winters yet to give, or this our last;
THIS, that makes the Tyrrhene billows spend their strength against
the shore.
Strain your wine and prove your wisdom; life is short; should hope
be more?
In the moment of our talking, envious time has ebb’d away.
Seize the present; trust to-morrow e’en as little as you may.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Ode III.2. Angustam amice. “It is sweet and honorable to die for one’s country.”
To suffer hardness with good cheer,
In sternest school of warfare bred,
Our youth should learn; let steed and spear
Make him one day the Parthian’s dread;
Cold skies, keen perils, brace his life.
Methinks I see from rampined town
Some battling tyrant’s matron wife,
Some maiden, look in terror down, —
“Ah, my dear lord, untrain’d in war!
O tempt not the infuriate mood
Of that fell lion! see! from far
He plunges through a tide of blood!”
What joy, for fatherland to die!
Death’s darts e’en flying feet o’ertake,
Nor spare a recreant chivalry,
A back that cowers, or loins that quake.
True Virtue never knows defeat:
HER robes she keeps unsullied still,
Nor takes, nor quits, HER curule seat
To please a people’s veering will.
True Virtue opens heaven to worth:
She makes the way she does not find:
The vulgar crowd, the humid earth,
Her soaring pinion leaves behind.
Seal’d lips have blessings sure to come:
Who drags Eleusis’ rite to day,
That man shall never share my home,
Or join my voyage: roofs give way
And boats are wreck’d: true men and thieves
Neglected Justice oft confounds:
Though Vengeance halt, she seldom leaves
The wretch whose flying steps she hounds.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Ovid
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Amours. I.1
Translated by Christopher Marlowe
Quemadmodum a Cupidine, pro bellis amores scribere coactus sit
We which were Ovids five books, now are three,
For these before the rest preferreth he:
If reading five thou plainst of tediousnesse,
Two tane away, thy labor will be lesse:
With Muse upreard I meant to sing of armes,
Choosing a subject fit for feirse alarmes:
Both verses were alike till Love (men say)
Began to smile and tooke one foote away.
Rash boy, who gave thee power to change a line?
We are the Muses prophets, none of thine.
What if thy Mother take Dianas bowe,
Shall Dian fanne when love begins to glowe?
In wooddie groves ist meete that Ceres Raigne,
And quiver bearing Dian till the plaine:
Who’le set the faire treste sunne in battell ray,
While Mars doth take the Aonian harpe to play?
Great are thy kingdomes, over strong and large,
Ambitious Imp, why seekst thou further charge?
Are all things thine? the Muses Tempe thine?
Then scarse can Phoebus say, this harpe is mine.
When in this workes first verse I trod aloft,
Love slackt my Muse, and made my numbers soft.
I have no mistris, nor no favorit,
Being fittest matter for a wanton wit,
Thus I complaind, but Love unlockt his quiver,
Tooke out the shaft, ordaind my hart to shiver:
And bent his sinewy bow upon his knee,
Saying, Poet heers a worke beseeming thee.
Oh woe is me,
he never shootes but hits,
I burne, love in my idle bosome sits.
Let my first verse be sixe, my last five feete,
Fare well sterne warre, for blunter Poets meete.
Elegian Muse, that warblest amorous laies,
Girt my shine browe with sea banke mirtle praise.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Amours. I.9
Ad Atticum, amantem non oportere desidiosum esse, sicuti nec militem
All Lovers warre, and Cupid hath his tent,
Atticke all lovers are to warre farre sent.
What age fits Mars, with Venus doth agree,
Tis shame for eld in waive or love to be.
What yeares in souldiours Captaines do require,
Those in their lovers, pretty maydes desire.
Both of them watch: each on the hard earth sleepes:
His Mistris dores this; that his Captaines keepes.
Souldiers must travaile farre: the wench forth send,
Her valiant lover followes without end.
Mounts, and raine-doubled flouds he passeth over,
And treades the deserts snowy heapes do cover.
Going to sea, East windes he doth not chide
Nor to hoist saile attends fit time and tyde.
Who but a souldiour or a lover is bould
To suffer storlne mixt snowes with nights sharpe cold?
One as a spy doth to his enemies goe,
The other eyes his rivall as his foe.
He Citties greate, this thresholds lies before:
This breakes Towne gates, but he his Mistris dore.
oft to invade the sleeping foe tis good
And arm’d to shed unarmed peoples bloud.
So the fierce troupes of ThracianRhesus fell
And Captive horses bad their Lord fare-well.
Sooth Lovers watch till sleepe the hus-band charmes,
Who slumbring, they rise up in swelling armes.
The keepers hands and corps-dugard to passe
The souldiours, and poore lovers worke ere was.
Doubtfull is warre and love, the vanquisht rise
And who thou never think’st should fall downe lies.
Therefore who ere love sloathfiilnesse doth call,
