Horace

exerpt, Ode 12, Book 3

  • miserarum neque amore dare ludum neque dulci
  • mala vino lavere aut exanimari metuentes
  • patruae verbera linguae
  •  
  • tibi qualum cytherae puer ales, tibi telas
  • operosaeque Minervae studium aufert, Neobule
  • liparaei nitor hebri
  •  
  • simul unctos tiberinis umeros lavit in undis
  • eques ipso melior bellerophonte, neque pugno
  • neque segni pede victus
  •  
  • catus idem per apertum fugientes agitato
  • grege cervos iaculari et celer arto latitantem
  • fruticeto excipere aprum
  • O those poor sad little ladies, with no chance for love or playing,
  • Washing off toil with wine, but mad lashings of an uncles' bad tongue
  • Forever fearing.
  •  
  • To you, Neobule, for a moment now forgetting
  • The loom's labor and the boredom of the shuttle, appearing
  • Like a winged Cupid soaring, that shining image
  • Hebrus of Lipari,
  •  
  • As his smooth slick limbs he plunges in the Tiber's waters,
  • Now a better horseman than Bellerophon, now boxing, running
  • And never beaten,
  •  
  • Sharp-eyed, about to spear the deer herd whirling there in the meadow,
  • Or poised, lance lowered, by the dense thicket, for the huge boar
  • Hiding... waiting.
Odes, (c. 23-13 BC). This is an exerpt from Ode 12, Book 3.

Editor's Note:

A fine commentary on this poem by William Harris, Prof. Em. at Middlebury College is available at: www.community.middlebury.edu/~harris/