Odes, Book 4, Ode 1

Horace returns to lyric poetry

by Horace

It is about ten years after Horace signed off his first three books of Odes in Greek lyric metres with a poem declaring that his task was done. Now there is a fourth book, of which this is the first poem. Horace says he is reluctant, and no longer the right age – he would have been fifty a couple of years before this Ode was written – to write this sort of poetry. The elegant set-piece on the praise of Venus and the compliment to Paulus Maximus, a powerful public figure who was Consul in 11 BCE, are framed by an opening and a conclusion which purport to tell us how the ageing Horace now feels about love. The beginning suggests that he would rather it were over and done with, but the ending, with its dream-sequence of longing for a beloved who seems now attainable, now elusive, contradicts this. Whether the poem expresses the middle-aged Horace’s true feelings, or whether it is no more than a characteristically skilled literary fiction, we don’t know, but it is a powerful piece.

See the illustrated blog post with a mosaic of Ganymede from Sousse in North Africa here.

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Intermissa, Venus, diu
rursus bella moves? parce, precor precor.
non sum qualis eram bonae
sub regno Cinarae. desine, dulcium

mater saeva Cupidinum,
circa lustra decem flectere mollibus
iam durum imperiis: abi,
quo blandae iuvenum te revocant preces.

tempestivius in domum
Pauli purpureis ales oloribus
comissabere Maximi,
si torrere iecur quaeris idoneum;

namque et nobilis et decens
et pro sollicitis non tacitus reis
et centum puer artium
late signa feret militiae tuae

et, quandoque potentior
largi muneribus riserit aemuli,
Albanos prope te lacus
ponet marmoream sub trabe citrea.

illic plurima naribus
duces tura lyraeque et Berecyntiae
delectabere tibiae
mixtis carminibus non sine fistula;

illic bis pueri die
numen cum teneris virginibus tuum
laudantes pede candido
in morem Salium ter quatient humum.

me nec femina nec puer
iam nec spes animi credula mutui
nec certare iuvat mero
nec vincire novis tempora floribus.

sed cur heu, Ligurine, cur
manat rara meas lacrima per genas?
cur facunda parum decoro
inter verba cadit lingua silentio?

nocturnis ego somniis
iam captum teneo, iam volucrem sequor
te per gramina Martii
campi, te per aquas, dure, volubilis.

Are you stirring up those wars again, Venus, suspended so long ago? Spare me, I pray, I pray!
I am not now what I was under the reign of gentle Cinara. Sweet Cupids’

savage mother, don’t try to soften me, toughened now and around my fifties,
with your tender commands: go back to where the tempting prayers of the young are calling you.

It would be more fitting for you, winged with your gleaming swans, to lead the revels into the house
of Paulus Maximus, if you are looking for a suitable liver to roast

– such a noble and presentable young man, with endless accomplishments and forever ready to speak up in court for his anxious clients, and as your soldier he will bear your standard far and wide.

Say perhaps one day he has bested a competitor in love, with a dismissive smile at the rich inducements the rival can offer: he will set you up in marble by the Alban lakes in a shrine under a citrus-wood lintel.

There you will breathe no end of incense and take delight in songs accompanied
by the lyre and the Berecyntian flute, and the Pan-pipes too;

there twice a day, in praise of your divine power, boys, dancing with tender maidens, will pound the floor
with their flashing feet to the four-beat rhythm of the Salic dance.

As for me, I take no pleasure now in woman or boy, in the fallacious hope of requited love,
in toasts and drinking-games, or in binding my temples with fresh flowers.

Ah, but why, Ligurinus, why is this unaccustomed tear rolling down my cheeks? Why even as I speak
does this clever tongue of mine lapse into such clumsy silence?

In my sleep at night it’s now you that I now catch and hold; now you, receding fast, that I follow over the grass of the Campus Martius, you, my cruel one, that I follow through the swirling waters.

`

More Poems by Horace

  1. Horace’s prayer to a wine-jar
  2. Here’s to Murena!
  3. Roman values for the new age
  4. A prayer to Mercury
  5. Horace’s wine
  6. Nereus prophesies the Trojan War
  7. The consolations of wine
  8. A Prayer to the poetry-God
  9. Soracte
  10. Relief from care
  11. A plea for burial
  12. Luxury versus the simple life
  13. Stormy seas
  14. Horace’s Cleopatra ode
  15. Pollio’s histories of civil war
  16. Housman and Horace
  17. Horace’s Chloe
  18. Horace’s first Ode
  19. Courage and decadence: the Regulus ode
  20. The pleasures and dangers of wine
  21. Unrequited love
  22. Don’t worry, be happy
  23. Horace’s reverence to Bacchus
  24. Horace’s monument
  25. Awe for the Gods
  26. An invitation to Maecenas
  27. Numida’s back
  28. What Roman youth should be
  29. The final ode
  30. The tug-of-war for Nearchus
  31. A garland from the Muses
  32. Romulus becomes a God
  33. A change of mind
  34. An oath to Maecenas
  35. Pindar and Augustus
  36. Poscimur
  37. Glycera
  38. Fortuna
  39. The fleeting years slip by
  40. Jealousy
  41. Pyrrha
  42. A prayer to Venus
  43. Valgius and Mystes
  44. Locked out
  45. Some advice for Dellius
  46. The Golden Mean
  47. Horace, the wolf and the upright life
  48. Horace rests from his labours
  49. Horace’s limitations
  50. Last love
  51. Jupiter’s authority, and Caesar’s
  52. New temples, new morals
  53. Horace the peacemaker
  54. Diffugere nives
  55. Rome: disaster and salvation
  56. Augustus, master of the world
  57. Tibur or Tarentum: a poet’s dilemma?
  58. Curse you, tree!
  59. Horace the swan
  60. Diana and Apollo: a hymn
  61. Romulus in Heaven
  62. Horace welcomes his army comrade
  63. Don’t trust Barine
  64. Gathering rosebuds: carpe diem
  65. Licymnia
  66. O Fons Bandusiae
  67. Give me comfort, not riches
  68. Lalage is too young
  69. Postumus, the years slip by
  70. Carpe diem, Sestius
  71. Wealth should be used, not hoarded
  72. Gyges’s constancy
  73. Love a slave-girl? Oh, Xanthias!
  74. Iccius goes soldiering
  75. Celebrating Neptune’s feast day
  76. A Farewell to arms
  77. The country is best
  78. Lovely mother, lovelier daughter
  79. Mourning for a good man
  80. Lydia’s tragedy
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