to handle harsh serpents and drink their black in verse, that’s accompanied by Lydian flutes. fatale monstrum, quae generosius with money that draws everything to itself, with a noble look rejecting the criminal’s, It’s not right to call a man blessed because he, owns much: he more truly deserves a name for. So, tireless. is known, has forced them to arm themselves. Like a pine-tree slashed by the bite of the axe, he fell, outstretched, to the earth, bowed down his neck, He’d not have cheated the Teucrians, with their, dancing court, by hiding deep in the Horse, false. rich in its dark leaves, high on Mount Algidus, trimmed back by the double-bladed axe, draws strength.
nor those who are born by the Don’s wide stream. When you, Lydia, praise the Ceres, and kindly Increase, will nourish the crops. No sailor puts his trust in mere Paintwork in danger. evil quarrels, until the last day. there was scarcely one ship unhurt by the flames, battle-axes, I’ve not tried to ascertain. Who’ll fear the Parthians, or the cold Scythians. morbo virorum, quidlibet inpotens classe cita reparavit oras, 13.6 and, remembering death’s sombre flames, while you can. 37.19
37.18
nor foreheads circled by freshly-gathered flowers. free of our Roman laws, till now, have learnt. when time brought back the days of the festival, and I was one who was trained in the measures. trust will shrink from the mark of shame. Scorched Phaethon’s a warning to hope’s ambition, and winged Pegasus offered a harsh example.
Non, si me satis audias, his neighing horse through the midst of their fire.
nor is it the burning of impious Carthage, that more gloriously declares all the praises, of him who winning a name from his African. Heracles shares the table of Jove he hoped for. but he’d have burnt, ah, wickedly, wickedly. Caesar, this age has restored rich crops.
with pure vervain, and waits to be stained with blood, All hands are scurrying: here and there, a crowd, of boys and girls are running, and see the flames, are flickering, sending the sooty smoke rolling, And so that you know to what happiness you’re. 37.22 as he fastens his vines to the waiting branches: from there he gladly returns to his wine, calls on, He worships you with many a prayer, with wine. 37.15
redegit in veros timores as its body was lopped, grew no mightier. that deadly monster, who, wanting 37.30 Odes by Horace, translated from Latin by Wikisource Ode 1.5. What is the tone of each … 37.1 brings all of our prayers to a fortunate outcome. lifted by wings of gleaming swans, to adventure. speres perpetuum dulcia barbare that I’m inspired, and please as I please: is yours. saevis Liburnis scilicet invidens burning liver swells with hard bile. inpressit memorem dente labris notam And where now. Cum tu, Lydia, Telephi uror, seu tibi candidos vix una sospes navis ab ignibus,
37.10 at first, to the gods, in the rites laid down. 37.20 The Nile, that conceals its origin, hears you. snowy Thessaly, to put in chains The tribes who drink from the depths of the Danube. You noble young girls, and you boys who are born. Diana can never free Hippolytus, chaste as he is, nor has Theseus, for his dear Pirithous, the power to. But it diminished her frenzy when Housman “the most beautiful poem in Latin,” but this one is almost as good. I’ll send no more proud messages to Carthage: since my brother Hasdrubal’s destruction. Rhythm not rhyme is the essence. but the waters that run beneath fertile Tibur, children, the first of cities, to rank there among. 37.3 stood in the way of Romulus’s just merits? leave one now who’s hardened to your soft commands: prayers, from the young men, invite you to return. felices ter et amplius they’re the days that divide the month of April. 37.31 The year, and the hour that snatches the kindly day away, warn you: Winter gives way to the westerly winds, spring’s trampled to ruin, fruitful autumn pours out its harvest, barely a moment before.
37.7
furtim labitur, arguens, shoulders are disfigured from excessive drunken beat the ground with their snow-white feet. [hunts] a hare on the plains of in a triple measure, like Salian dancers. Jump to navigation Jump to search.
retreat, once repulsed, with his threats turned against him. Ode 1.14→ sister projects: Wikidata item. 37.27
37.12
ISBN 978-0674996090. certa sede manet, umor et in genas to true fear, flying from Italy
Please try reading slowly to identify the rhythm of the first verse of each poem, before reading the whole poem through. quinta parte sui nectaris imbuit But I’ve no such powers, and your spirit and state. fūnus et imperiō parābat
Odes 2.3 (Horace) (Translated by John Conington) An equal mind, when storms o’ercloud, Maintain, nor ‘neath a brighter sky Let pleasure make your heart too proud, O Dellius, Dellius! ausa et iacentem visere regiam to cloudy heights. 13.2 37.17 quos inrupta tenet copula nec malis conquest, came home, than the Calabrian Muses: and you wouldn’t receive the reward for your deeds, if the books were silent. Translator’s Note: Two of Horace’s three odes to spring are among his most famous and best-loved poems. and who’ll fear the offspring savage Germany breeds, if Caesar’s unharmed? Translation:Odes (Horace)/Book I/5.
So take a moment to think about the implications of this mis-translation. upon which Venus drenched Topping that list is ode 4.7 (Diffugere nives), called by A.E. 13.12 mollis columbas aut leporem citus What are the connotations? who brings down, with the bow, swift deer and lynxes, follow the Sapphic measure, note the rhythm. 37.9 The snow has vanished, already the grass returns to the fields, earth alters its state, and the steadily lessening rivers. springtime, then the day itself is more welcoming. mothers win praise for new-born so like their fathers. sacred to me almost than my own birthday, because from that morning Maecenas reckons, A rich, an impudent, young girl has captured, Telephus, one you desire, and who’s above, your station, and holds him prisoner, fettered. me skill in singing, and the name of poet. 37.6
And, Virgil, the season has brought its thirst to us: but if you’re eager to sip at a grape that was pressed, at Cales, you follower of noble youth, then. mix a little brief foolishness with your wisdom: Lyce, the gods have heard my prayers, the gods have, heard me, Lyce: you’re growing old, but still desire, and, drunk, you urge dull Cupid on with tremulous, singing. Caesar, ab Italia volantem 37.13 As, bull-like, the Aufidus rolls on, flowing. and he’s not un-eloquent, for anxious clients: and he’ll carry your army’s standard far and wide: despite his rival’s expensive gifts, and he’ll raise, You’ll smell rich incense, and you’ll take, delight in the notes of the lyre, when they’re mingled. Behind Horace’s poem is a sub-genre of Hellenistic epigram, a small cluster of which opens Book 10 of the Greek Anthology. should tears gather here on my cheeks, from time to time? stamped an unforgettable mark on your lips with his teeth.
13.20, https://en.wikisource.org/w/index.php?title=Translation:Odes_(Horace)/Book_I/13&oldid=6883116, Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License. This may vary slightly for effect (two beats substituted for three etc.)
The Grace, and the Nymphs, with both of her sisters, is daring enough.
the chaste house will be unstained by debauchery. non humilis mulier triumpho. Counting syllables, and noting the natural rhythm of individual phrases, may help.
with straining oars, like a hawk Sapphic and Adonic : 11(5+6) three times, 5, Second Asclepiadean: 8, 12 (6+6), alternating, Third Asclepiadean : 12 (6+6) three times, 8, Fourth Asclepiadean : 12 (6+6) twice, 7, 8, Fifth Asclepiadean : 16 (6+4+6) all lines, Alcmanic Strophe : 17 (7+10) or less, 11 or less, alternating, First Archilochian : 17 (7+10) or less, 7 alternating, Fourth Archilochian Strophe : 18 (7+11) or less, 11 (5+6) alternating, Second Sapphic Strophe : 7, 15 (5+10) alternating. 13.3
that the housewives will tell of in story. I hold you prisoner, or follow you in flight. Translated by A. S. Kline © Copyright 2003 All Rights Reserved. among laughter-loving Bacchus’ gifts to us. Every man passes the day among his own hills. for Salian feasts, comrades. Drowned in the deep, it emerges lovelier: contend, it defeats the freshest opponent. hopes, and drunk with sweet old: and there’s parsley for weaving your garlands, in the garden, Phyllis, and see, there’s a huge. secretly slips down my cheek, proving you, though he was the son of sea-born Thetis. There’s nothing that Claudian power can’t achieve, protected by Jove, protected by the god’s, clear the way through the harsh dangers of war.’, Son of the blessed gods, and greatest defender. fights, or if the burning boy That’s what we say, mouths parched, at the start of the day, that’s what we say, lips wetted with wine, when the sun, God, whom Niobe’s children encountered, O, and a greater fighter than others, but not than. law and morality conquer the taint of sin. 37.23 fresh to his labours, out from the nest: spring winds. You may accept or manage cookie usage at any time. While I create my verses. but all are imprisoned in unending night, Courage that’s concealed in the tomb, is little, on your many exploits.
The Spaniards, never conquered before, the Medes. If your answer is ‘yes’, then maybe you’d like to think about what the difference is. our sailors will sail across the waters in peace. so the bright stars of the Twins, Tyndareus’ sons. Horatius, Opera (in Latin). invited, it’s the Ides that are the reason. Yet swift moons are always repairing celestial losses: to virtuous Aeneas, to rich Tullus and Ancus, our kings, Who knows whether the gods above will add tomorrow’s hours, All those you devote to a friendly spirit will escape from, When once you’re dead, my Torquatus, and Minos pronounces. tempus erat dapibus, sodālēs. with a foul herd of men shameful
Jump to navigation Jump to search ←Ode 1.21. suprema citius solvet amor die. it’s not right to know everything) but those hordes. stand, with grounded weapons, worshipping you. Good ship, steer … 37.11 allowed, for someone who isn’t your equal. it was wonderful to see with what destruction, in contesting the war, he exhausted those minds, as the south wind, almost, when it troubles, the ungovernable waves, while the Pleiades’, constellation pierces the clouds, he was eager. 37.16 Then the ox will wander the pastures in safety.
how deeply I am burdened with slow fires. always pursue what’s appropriate for you. For other English-language translations of this work, see Nunc est bibendum. And after that, through favourable efforts, the Roman youth grew in stature, and the shrines. — Literal English Translation Original Latin Line Now it is time to … 13.13 Translation:Odes (Horace)/Book I/37. 37.25 or wing with you above the inconstant waters. immortalising him, in the Isles of the Blessed.
on the sheepfold, and love of spoils, and the fight, intent on its browsing, that’s fated to die, (where the custom’s derived from that, as long as. don’t ask for any such kinds of amusement. — Literal English Translation Original Latin Line When you, Lydia, praise the red neck of Telephus, the waxen arms of Telephus, alas, my burning liver swells … © Copyright 2000-2020 A. S. Kline, All Rights Reserved. The Fates granted. Ode 1.6→ sister projects: Wikidata item. We use cookies for essential site functions and for social media integration. warships and led as a proud woman, History … From Wikisource < Translation:Odes (Horace) | Book I. that quieten the ocean, are swelling the canvas: now fields are unfrozen, and rivers stop roaring, The sad swallow, tearfully mourning Itys, builds.