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