The Latin:
Quem uirum aut heroa lyra uel acri
tibia sumis celebrare, Clio?
Quem deum? Cuius recinet iocosa
nomen imago
aut in umbrosis Heliconis oris
aut super Pindo gelidoue in Haemo?
Vnde uocalem temere insecutae
Orphea siluae
arte materna rapidos morantem
fluminum lapsus celerisque uentos,
blandum et auritas fidibus canoris
ducere quercus.
Quid prius dicam solitis parentis
laudibus, qui res hominum ac deorum,
qui mare ac terras uariisque mundum
temperat horis?
Vnde nil maius generatur ipso
nec uiget quicquam simile aut secundum;
proximos illi tamen occupabit
Pallas honores.
Proeliis audax, neque te silebo,
Liber, et saeuis inimica uirgo
beluis, nec te, metuende certa
Phoebe sagitta.
Dicam et Alciden puerosque Ledae,
hunc equis, illum superare pugnis
nobilem; quorum simul alba nautis
stella refulsit,
defluit saxis agitatus umor,
concidunt uenti fugiuntque nubes
et minax, quod sic uoluere, ponto
unda recumbit.
Romulum post hos prius an quietum
Pompili regnum memorem, an superbos
Tarquini fasces, dubito, an Catonis
nobile letum.
Regulum et Scauros animaeque magnae
prodigum Paulum superante Poeno
gratus insigni referam Camena
Fabriciumque.
Hunc et incomptis Curium capillis
utilem bello tulit et Camillum
saeua paupertas et auitus apto
cum lare fundus.
Crescit occulto uelut arbor aeuo
fama Marcelli; micat inter omnis
Iulium sidus, uelut inter ignis
luna minores.
Gentis humanae pater atque custos,
orte Saturno, tibi cura magni
Caesaris fatis data: tu secundo
Caesare regnes.
Ille seu Parthos Latio imminentis
egerit iusto domitos triumpho
siue subiectos Orientis orae
Seras et Indos,
te minor laetum reget aequus orbem:
tu graui curru quaties Olympum,
tu parum castis inimica mittes
fulmina lucis.
The Translation:
What man or hero do you praise
with the lyre or the high shrill flute, Cleo?
What god? Whose name will resound
with happy echoes
Either on the shadowy slopes of Helicon,
above icy Pindus, or on Haemus Mons?
Whence the woods blindly followed
Orpheus' voice,
which, by his mother's art, stopped
flowing rivers and rushing winds
and lead listening oaks with grace
and melodious chords.
Of whom shall I first sing the praises
reserved for the Father, who rules
the affairs of men and gods, who
tempers the seas, the various lands of the world
and the seasons?
From whom no one greater than himself was born
nor is anyone as powerful or nearly as powerful;
Minerva, however will gain the closest honors
to him.
She is dauntless in combat, and I will not be silent
of you Bacchus, nor to you Virgin of crossroads,
enemy of beasts, nor you, Apollo, feared
for your sure-shot arrows.
I will even sing of Hercules, and Leda's boys
this one famed for his victory in horse-riding,
the other in boxing; whenever their white stars
shine for sailors,
churning waters flow from the cliffs,
they beat down the winds and put clouds to flight
and, because they will it so, threatening waves
slink back into the sea.
I don't know whether to praise Romulus afterword,
or the memory of Numa's peaceful reign,
or Tarquins arrogant fasces, or the noble
death of Cato.
Grateful, with distinguished poems I recall
Regulus and the Scauri, Paulus, wasteful
of his great life, overcome by the Phoenician,
and Fabricus.
I tell of him, and Curius with uncut hair
and Camillus, ever the pragmatist in war,
on account of his savage poverty, his
worthy gods and ancestral homeland.
Marcellus' glory grows silently
like a tree in time; Julian stars
shines bright among the others,
just as the moon among lesser lights.
Father and watchman of the nations of men,
son of Saturn, the responsibility of great Caesar
was given to you by fate: you will rule
with Caesar your regent.
Whether he leads the vanquished Persians
or menacing Latium in a just triumph
or the Seras and Indians who live under
the sky of the Orient,
Second to you, he will rule the world well,
You will shake Olympus with your heavy chariot
you'll send hostile flames to sacred groves
once pure.
Jesus,
that was a long one. Still, it wasn't the worst I've had; this is a
relatively straightforward poem, a nice bit of brown-nosing on Horace's
part. This is the sort of poem you certainly wouldn't see in a Latin
class, that's for certain. It's long, it's not particularly interesting
and there's a bunch of references to mythology and history that are
pretty obscure. The only things I will clarify are some metonymic allusions. The Father, of course, is Jupiter, the Virgin of crossroads
is Diana, goddess of the moon, the hunt, and crossroads (for some
reason), and the Phoenician is Hannibal, who basically is like Napoleon
mixed with Hitler in Roman eyes (that is to say, the archtypical Enemy,
but somewhat respected and not shorthand for Evil).
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