Summer of Horace: Ode 1.6, the Greatest Story that ever Wasn't

Hello Again, dear readers! There's no need for fancy introductions, we're all friends here. Let's get right into the text, shall we?

The Latin:

Scriberis Vario fortis et hostium

uictor, Maeonii carminis alite,

quam rem cumque ferox nauibus aut equis

miles te duce gesserit.

Nos, Agrippa, neque haec dicere nec grauem 

Pelidae stomachum cedere nescii,

nec cursus duplicis per mare Vlixei

nec saeuam Pelopis domum

conamur, tenues grandia, dum pudor

inbellisque lyrae Musa potens uetat 

laudes egregii Caesaris et tuas

culpa deterere ingeni.

Quis Martem tunica tectum adamantina

digne scripserit aut puluere Troico

nigrum Merionen aut ope Palladis 

Tydiden superis parem?

Nos conuiuia, nos proelia uirginum

sectis in iuuenes unguibus acrium

cantamus, uacui siue quid urimur

non praeter solitum leues.  

The Translations:

You will be been written about even by Varius,

Brave vanquisher of foes, by the wings of Maeonian songs

Whatever things the fierce soldier or ships or horsemen

Carry with you, leader

I, Agrippa, attempt neither to say these things nor

Yield to the grave rage of Achilles the Stubborn,

Nor the twofold course of Ulysses through the seas

Nor the cruel home of Pelops, should your greatness be lessened,

Whilst the chaste, powerful Muse, of the lyre unfit for war

Forbids that I wear away the greatness of

Caesar the Eminent and your own guilt of genius

Who will write properly about Mars, cloaked in the adamant tunic

Or Meriones, black with Trojan sand, or Tydides,

Equal to the gods by the work of Minerva?

I sing of banquets, I sing of the battles of bitter girls

With uncut nails against boys

Whether I am empty or whether I burn

I am not beyond my accustomed lightness. 

The general theme of this poem seems to be a reflection on the general policy of Alexandrian writers. That is to say, they were extremely opposed to writing epics, and only stuck to shorter poems about light things. Of course, this seems not to have stopped Vergil or Varius (who apparently wrote an epic, an award winning play celebrating the battle of Actium, neither of which survive, and was one of the editors of the Aeneid after Vergil died. Vergil, it seems, was very jealous of him). Agrippa, likewise was the original heir to the Empire, and Augustus, for as clever as a man as he was, didn't really have much in the way of a contingency plan for when he died. I suppose there isn't much else to say about this poem, other than it is a poem about how Horace couldn't write a more interesting poem about Agrippa. Oh well.