Summer of Horace: Ode 1.7, Alcohol is Always a Solution

Hello again, dear readers! I thought that this poem was more fitting for the evening than during the day, because nobody should be day-drinking.

The Latin:
Laudabunt alii claram Rhodon aut Mytilenen
aut Ephesum bimarisue Corinthi
moenia uel Baccho Thebas uel Apolline Delphos
insignis aut Thessala Tempe;
sunt quibus unum opus est intactae Palladis urbem
carmine perpetuo celebrare et
undique decerptam fronti praeponere oliuam;
plurimus in Iunonis honorem
aptum dicet equis Argos ditesque Mycenas:
me nec tam patiens Lacedaemon
nec tam Larisae percussit campus opimae
quam domus Albuneae resonantis
et praeceps Anio ac Tiburni lucus et uda
mobilibus pomaria riuis.
Albus ut obscuro deterget nubila caelo
saepe Notus neque parturit imbris
perpetuo, sic tu sapiens finire memento
tristitiam uitaeque labores
molli, Plance, mero, seu te fulgentia signis
castra tenent seu densa tenebit
Tiburis umbra tui. Teucer Salamina patremque
cum fugeret, tamen uda Lyaeo
tempora populea fertur uinxisse corona,
sic tristis affatus amicos:
'Quo nos cumque feret melior fortuna parente,
ibimus, o socii comitesque.
Nil desperandum Teucro duce et auspice Teucro:
certus enim promisit Apollo
ambiguam tellure noua Salamina futuram.
O fortes peioraque passi
mecum saepe uiri, nunc uino pellite curas;
cras ingens iterabimus aequor.' 

The Translation:
Others praise famed Rhodes or Mytilene
Or Ephesus or of two-coasted walls of Corinth,
Thebes is distinguished by Bacchus, Delphi Apollo, Thessala Tempe;
There are those for whom there is work to celebrate
the singular city of virgin Minerva with endless songs
and to place plucked olive branches on their brows from all parts;
many offer honors for Juno,
Argive steeds and Mycenaean treasure:
neither enduring Lacedaemon,
nor the fields of fertile Larisa strike me so
as the home of the resounding Sybil,
the preciptous Aniene, the grove of the Tiber
and the orchards watered by flowing rivers.
As often as the white South Wind clears
the dark sky of clouds and never births rains
forever, thus you are wise, mindful
that sadness and the trials of life end,
with soothing pure wine, Plancus, whether
The gleaming camps keep you with the standard
or the thick shadows of the Tiber will hold you.
When Teucer fled Salamina and his father,
nevertheless it is said that he bound his temples
with a crown of popular, moist with Lyaean wine,
and, grief-struck he addressed his friends:
“Comrades and allies, wherever we shall go
fortune will bear us more kindly than my father.
There is nothing to dispair, with Teucer as your leader
and Teucer as your auger, for resolute Apollo promised
an uncertain future to Salamina in a new world.
Brave men, men who have suffered worse,
men forever with me, strike away your cares with wine
Tomorrow, we will sail the great sea!”


I don't have much to comment on this poem. It pretty much speaks for itself: when your life is shit, just drink and your problems go away until tomorrow. Even in ancient Rome, poets gave terrible life advice. As to Teucer, I am not overly familiar with him outside of being an archer and a captain during the Trojan war. Your guess beyond that is as good as mine.