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Translated by A. S. Kline ã2003 All Rights
Reserved
This work may be freely reproduced, stored,
and transmitted, electronically or otherwise,
for any non-commercial purpose.
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Fierce winter slackens its grip: it’s spring and the west
wind’s sweet change:
the ropes are hauling dry hulls towards the shore,
The flock no longer enjoys the fold, or the ploughman the
fire,
no more are the meadows white with hoary frost.
I’m too slight for grandeur, since shame and the Muse,
who’s the power of the peaceful lyre, forbids me
to lessen the praise of great Caesar and you,
by my defective artistry.
Leave the rest to the gods: when they’ve stilled the winds
that struggle, far away, over raging seas,
you’ll see that neither the cypress trees
nor the old ash will be able to stir.
You girls, she who enjoys the streams and the green leaves
of the groves that clothe the cool slopes of Algidus,
or dark Erymanthian
trees, or the woods of green Cragus.
Many are the good men who weep for his dying,
none of them, Virgil, weep more profusely than you.
Piously, you ask the gods for him, alas, in vain:
not so was he given to us.
but his skin and his bones, and that certainly made him,
Archytas,
to your mind, no trivial example
of Nature and truth. But there’s still one night that awaits us
all,
and each, in turn, makes the journey of death.
Now’s the time for drinking deep, and now’s the time
to beat the earth with unfettered feet, the time
to set out the gods’ sacred couches,
my friends, and prepare a Salian feast.
,RQLFD0LQRUH: 16 twice, 8
Odes: None in Book I
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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.
Add that all our youths are being groomed for you,
groomed as fresh slaves, while none of your old lovers
leave the house of their impious mistress, as
they often threatened.
,RQLFD0LQRUH: 16 twice, 8
Odes: None in Book II
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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,
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:
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.
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.
,RQLFD0LQRUH: 16 twice, 8
Ode: 12
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,RQLFD0LQRUH: 16 twice, 8
Ode: None in Book IV
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