Summer of Horace: Ode 1.2, Shameless Pandering

Hello dear readers, I apologize for not updating last night. Why, I even had the poem complete before dinner too, and I just lost track of time. Well, lucky for you all, there will be two poems for you to read today! I will post Ode 1.3 later today, but please read on!

This poem is a pretty lengthy one: about fifty lines. It should be too, as it is dedicated to the one and only Augustus Caesar. It shares a good deal of similarities to the Aeneid: the Roman Civil War, the major event of Horace's life is modeled in an allegory of storms and floods, in this case the Great Deluge of Roman mythology, as well as a major flooding of the Tiber which apparently happened in his life. In addition, Horace, like Vergil, makes up Augustus to be the heroic savior of the Roman people (no doubt on account of some executive meddling). Interestingly, though, Augustus is made up to be Mercury here (he normally liked to present himself as Apollo).

Sincere Regards,

Michael Coffey

The Latin:

Iam satis terris niuis atque dirae
grandinis misit Pater et rubente
dextera sacras iaculatus arces
     terruit Vrbem,

terruit gentis, graue ne rediret        
saeculum Pyrrhae noua monstra questae,
omne cum Proteus pecus egit altos
     uisere montis,

piscium et summa genus haesit ulmo,
nota quae sedes fuerat columbis,  
et superiecto pauidae natarunt
      aequore dammae.

Vidimus flauom Tiberim retortis
litore Etrusco uiolenter undis
ire deiectum monumenta regis
     templaque Vestae,

Iliae dum se nimium querenti
iactat ultorem, uagus et sinistra
labitur ripa Ioue non probante
     uxorius amnis.                                

Audiet ciuis acuisse ferrum,
quo graues Persae melius perirent,
audiet pugnas uitio parentum
     rara iuuentus.

Quem uocet diuum populus ruentis          
imperi rebus? Prece qua fatigent
uirgines sanctae minus audientem
     carmina Vestam?

Cui dabit partis scelus expiandi
Iuppiter? Tandem uenias precamur,        
nube candentis umeros amictus,
     augur Apollo,

siue tu mauis, Erycina ridens,
quam Iocus circumuolat et Cupido,
siue neglectum genus et nepotes        
     respicis, auctor,

heu nimis longo satiate ludo,
quem iuuat clamor galeaeque leues,
acer et Mauri peditis cruentum
      uoltus in hostem,                              

siue mutata iuuenem figura
ales in terris imitaris, almae
filius Maiae, patiens uocari
     Caesaris ultor.

Serus in caelum redeas diuque        
laetus intersis populo Quirini,
neue te nostris vitiis iniquum
     ocior aura

tollat; hic magnos potius triumphos,
hic ames dici pater atque princeps,        
neu sinas Medos equitare inultos
     te duce, Caesar.


The Translation:
Now the Father sent enough snow and fearful hail to the earth,

He threw accursed bolts upon citadels with his flush right hand

And terrified Rome

He terrified nations, lest the grave age of lamenting Pyrrha

Return with perplexing portents, when Proteus drove all his flock

To seek high mountains,

To the tops of elms, know to be the perch of doves

Cling all the stock of fish, and panicked deer

Floundered in the scattered waves

We saw the yellow Tiber, rapids churned,

Charge the Tuscan shore, unhorse the king’s monuments

And the Vestal temple

Whilst to grumbling Ilia he makes himself to be the great avenger

The wandering, hen-pecked river slipped to sinister banks

Without Jove’s permission

He will remember:  whetting his steel against his citizens,

By which it would have been better to slay the grave Persian

The youth, rare from his father’s sins, will remember the war.

Which of the Gods will the people of the empire,

Ruined by its own affairs, call upon? With what prayers

Could the virgins tire Vesta, listening to too few sacred songs?

To whom will Jupiter give the part of atoning for sin?

At last we pray that you come, a gleaming cloak of cloud on your shoulders,

Prophet Apollo

Mars, either you prefer, mocking Venus

whom Cupid and Jocus flit around or you look back

At your neglected race and grandsons,

Alas, too satisfied by long leisure, he is pleased

By the gleaming helm, the battle cry, and the cruel face

Of the Moor, bloodied by the enemy,

Whether, form changed, you disguise yourself on Earth

As a young man, the beautiful winged son of nurturing Maia,

Allowed to be named Caesar’s Vengeance,

You would return late to heaven, and, content, stay

Among Janus’ people, nor allow an untimely air carry you away

On account of our unjust faults

Here you love the great triumphs more,

Here, Father and Prince, you love to be spoken of

And, dear leader, you do not let the Orient ride unpunished.